We act according to what we believe (ourselves to be)
by girlwithaweirdname
Summary: Jimmy gets lost in a snowstorm. Thomas looks for him.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Thomas watched the storm from his bedroom window, smoking his cigarettes end-to-end. The wind was blowing snow and ice in thick, rolling waves across the grounds, covering all of Downton in white. Thomas couldn't even see the trees or much of the road anymore, but it didn't matter; it was the side door he was really keeping an eye on.

Today was he and Jimmy's half-day, and Jimmy had gone into town for a drink. He said he'd return before dinner, but it was nearly 6 o'clock and there was still no sign of him. Thomas hoped Jimmy was smart enough to stay in the tavern until the worst of the storm passed, but he suspected that was too bloody sensible for him. Jimmy was a reckless sort, especially with a bit of drink in him— and drink was something Jimmy often had.

That worried Thomas. Lately Jimmy had taken to buying cheap spirits and drinking them in his room, or going out at odd hours when he could get away with it and returning with alcohol on his breath. He seemed almost depressed, but wouldn't tell anyone what was bothering him.

Now he was out there in that wretched storm, probably drunk… anxiety twisted Thomas's stomach.

What if something happened to Jimmy out there? The snow was so thick he could easily become disoriented in it. What if he lost his way and froze to death? Thomas had heard that happened to people sometimes, even in their own front lawns. Or perhaps Jimmy _would_ make it back only to fall ill because he'd gotten so cold… and he'd been wearing that silly coat too, the gray one that was terribly fashionable but not-so-terribly warm.

Thomas scowled and put out his cigarette. Damn Jimmy Kent and his vanity… damn him and his drunkenness, too. Thomas would have words with him when he got back. They were friends now, it was _allowed_.

_Ah, but we're not such very good friends, are we? _Thomas thought with a pang. _When I asked if he wanted me to come with him, he said no straight away, and didn't even make up an excuse to soften the blow._

Worst of all, that hadn't been the first time Jimmy had turned him away without a word, or treated him coldly. Thomas knew it was because he still made Jimmy uncomfortable sometimes. Of course it was impossible for Thomas _not_ to love Jimmy, but he tried his best not to ever show it, he really did.

He supposed he'd just have to try harder.

Distantly he heard the sounds of rattling cutlery and chattering voices coming from the servants' hall— dinner was ready, then. Thomas hoped Jimmy had come in and he just hadn't seen him through all the snow. It was possible.

With that thought in mind, Thomas hurried downstairs and poked his head in the door, looking for golden hair. He didn't want to ask but he opened his mouth anyway.

"Jimmy back, yet?"

Several people shook their heads, and Mrs. Hughes said something vague about being sure he'd turn up soon. Thomas nodded, wondering why no one else seemed worried, and slipped out of the room. He'd have to ring the tavern and see if Jimmy were still there, if only for his own peace of mind. There was no way he could sit down to dinner without knowing if Jimmy were alright first.

He rang using the telephone in Carson's office. Thomas asked after Jimmy and discovered he wasn't there, but the barman told Thomas Jimmy had come and went about two or three hours past—and that he'd been drunk and "behaving strangely."

Ice trickled through Thomas's veins as he hung up.

Even if Jimmy had walked very slowly, he still should've been back long ago. Something was wrong. Jimmy was out in the storm, drunk… perhaps depressed…

Heart in his throat, Thomas rushed back upstairs and bundled himself in his warmest clothing. Then he found and lit a sturdy outdoor lantern from one of the storage closets. When he was as ready as he could be, he dashed back downstairs to the servants' hall.

"I'm going out," Thomas said briskly. "to look for Jimmy."

Mr. Carson's eyebrows shot up. "What's this, Mr. Barrow…?"

Thomas did not feel like stroking Mr. Carson's sense of authority at the moment. Still, he had to tell someone where he was going in case he didn't come back, either.

"Jimmy said he'd return before dinner, sir, and he hasn't. I'm concerned something's happened to him in the storm." Thomas said. Belatedly he realized he was making a spectacle of himself in front of everyone—standing there by the table looking ridiculous in his hat and coat—but Thomas didn't care one wit what they thought.

This was an _emergency_.

Mr. Carson frowned. "While your concern is admirable, Thomas, it's very likely that James is simply waiting out the storm somewhere in town. You don't need to go trudging about in this weather looking for him."

"I called the tavern and the barman was sure Jimmy had come and went about two or three hours ago." Thomas said tightly. "And I know Jimmy; he's foolish enough to go out in the storm without a light, and get lost, especially if he's had something to drink."

"Perhaps Mr. Barrow is right to be concerned," Mrs. Hughes agreed, sounding worried.

Mr. Carson pressed his lips together, thinking. Thomas knew he was trying to decide on some course of action, but he was much too slow for Thomas. There were only two choices: look for Jimmy, or leave him out there in the storm to fend for himself.

Thomas didn't wait for a decision—his had already been made. He turned and left the servants' hall, opened the outside door, then closed it firmly behind him.

As soon as the cold hit him it took his breath away. He quickly wrapped his scarf over his mouth and nose and raised the lantern, squinting against the cutting wind. The whole world was white, and the wind sounded like distant shrieking.

_This is dangerous, and no mistake,_ Thomas thought grimly.

He took a steadying breath and started heading for the village. The snow was not as deep as he'd expected, but the wind was so strong it had swept the snow thin in places and collected it into mountainous drifts in others. As long as Thomas stayed out of the drifts he should be able to manage. Luckily the road was easy enough to find, although it too was partially covered by towering snowdrifts, making it impassable for motors or carriages. He suspected even a sleigh would have difficulties.

For a moment he considered taking the shortcut into town like he usually did—there was a narrow path through the forest, and the trees would help keep the wind off him—but almost immediately Thomas nixed that idea. In the woods it would be too easy to veer off course and lose your way… especially as the sun set and it grew dark, which wouldn't be long now…

Thomas stopped in his tracks. Suddenly he knew what had happened to Jimmy.

The walk to the village had been much colder than Jimmy expected. The wind cut through his new coat like it was made of cobwebs, making him shiver till his teeth chattered. Thomas had been right about the bloody thing being too thin—in the shop when he'd tried it on, Thomas had looked him up and down and declared it "very handsome, but not thick enough for winter at Downton." But Jimmy hadn't listened to that— he'd been too busy enjoying the way Thomas had looked at him to pay much attention to his words.

But that was exactly it, wasn't it? It was things like that that had him running away from Downton every chance he got, and downing liquor wherever he could find it. He'd go mad if he didn't. It was the biggest mystery to Jimmy how Thomas lived with— with _this_— with so much grace and aplomb.

Jimmy felt torn to pieces at the best of times.

Out of habit Jimmy studied his reflection in the mirror behind the bar as he drank. Not a hair was out of place, his clothes were tidy, and even his expression was misleadingly neutral. He wondered how he could still look so good when he felt this bad. Perhaps other people felt like this, too, and he just never guessed because they looked perfectly calm on the surface. Jimmy glanced around the bar, wondering if any of _them_ were like _him_.

He ordered a round of shots in hopes of washing all unwanted thoughts from his mind. Unfortunately it had the opposite effect: the more he drank the more he thought of Thomas.

Lovely, brave, foolish Thomas…

Jimmy hadn't meant to hurt him, but it kept happening over and over. He'd done it again today, snapping at him like that. If only Jimmy could do something to show him he was sorry.

Jimmy imagined taking Thomas's wounded hand in his and kissing it. _Oh_, that would be—

Jimmy squeezed his eyes shut and finished his shot, then opened them again.

_You can't ever have him,_ Jimmy told his reflection sternly. _So stop thinking about it. You know there's no such thing as a happy ending for your sort._

Jimmy ordered another round of shots, and downed them in quick succession.

When he finished those he looked in the mirror again, feeling dizzy. He was making a terrible face now, wasn't he, all twisted up and miserable. It was really very ugly. How could Thomas care for him so much when he was such a fundamentally unattractive individual?

_Don't ask why, just be grateful he loves you and is a friend to you, _Jimmy told himself. _Enjoy it while it lasts, don't be ungrateful._ Jimmy pointed a finger at his reflection and wagged it.

The barman came over to Jimmy, clearly thinking the finger wag had been for him. Jimmy ordered a pint this time and thought about Thomas loving him, and how one day he wouldn't anymore. Maybe he'd find another man to love, one who was just as mad and romantic as he was, and he'd leave Downton forever. Or maybe he'd just fall out of love with Jimmy bit by bit, and Jimmy would die inside a little each day until he finally kicked it for real.

Jimmy slumped over his pint, feeling weepy and ill. There was an actual, physical ache in his chest, and it _hurt_. He looked at his reflection again—ah, _now_ he looked almost as wretched as he felt.

How long had he been sitting here? It felt like years.

Without even realizing he was doing it at first, Jimmy began to sing "Tain't Nobodys Business If I Do" under his breath, his fingers idly tapping the notes on the bar as if he were playing piano. God, he didn't even like that tune, really… it was sad and disturbing… what the bloody hell was it in his head for…

Jimmy took another long drink.

"You alright, Mr. Kent?"

Jimmy blinked and struggled to focus on the barman. He was giving Jimmy a funny look, as if he were worried Jimmy had gone round the twist while he wasn't looking.

_Well, maybe I have_, Jimmy thought bitterly. In any case he decided he'd had quite enough to drink today; it was only making him feel worse than he already did. Jimmy nodded at the barman and paid his tab, miscounting the money twice before he got it right. Then he slid off the bar stool and made for the door. He swayed a bit, but he wasn't stumbling, and that was good.

As soon as he walked out of the tavern he regretted leaving its warmth. It had grown even colder in the time he'd been indoors, so cold it hurt to take too deep a breath. Sniffling miserably, Jimmy bent his head and trudged through the heavy snow, glad he knew a shortcut through the woods back to Downton. The trees would block the wind a little and it would get him home faster than the road.

Besides, Thomas was there, and it was better to be near him than not, no matter how much Jimmy's chest ached.

Daylight was fading fast, and Thomas knew it would be full dark soon. He concentrated hard on keeping his wits about him, looking for tracks in the snow by the light of his lantern. It was difficult; the air was so cold it hurt his face and his feet, though the wind had lessened considerably under the shelter of the trees.

At times he couldn't keep his thoughts from straying to all the dreadful things that could've happened to Jimmy and it made him feel sick with worry. Still, he forced himself to stay calm. He'd gambled that Jimmy had left the tavern and used this path, only the snow and the drink had obscured the way too much for Jimmy to follow. Jimmy was probably wandering around the forest now, lost and cold and frightened.

If Thomas's guess was wrong, however, Jimmy could be passed out in snowdrift somewhere far away, freezing to death…

_No_. Even the thought was intolerable.

For a long time there was nothing but silence, broken only by the wind and Thomas's own footsteps. Fear churned in his stomach, and his heart ached. _Oh Jimmy, please be alright…if I would've known the storm was coming I would have followed you like I did at the fair, and kept you safe…_

Finally he saw a very faint footprint in the snow, one that hadn't yet been erased by the wind. The outline of it was softened almost to obscurity by fresh snow, but Thomas could see more of them receding into the distance. They'd come from town and seemed to more or less follow the path, but now Thomas could see the point at which they'd made a wrong turn into the trees.

These had to belong to Jimmy.

Quickening his pace, he followed the tracks off the path. He needed to hurry and find Jimmy before darkness fell— it was already quite dim under the shade of the bare-limbed trees—and hopefully they could be back at Downton in an hour. Then the two of them could sit in front of the fire together and have tea, or perhaps hot cocoa if Mrs. Patmore was feeling generous, and Thomas would scold Jimmy, and Jimmy would promise never to be so foolish again. Yes, that would be very nice.

Thomas paused for a moment to catch his breath, and when he looked up he realized where he was.

The river was not far from here.

It was a smallish river and not very deep, but Thomas had heard stories over the years of a couple local children losing their lives in its waters: one who went swimming in the summer had turned up drowned a week later, and another who'd tried ice-gliding on it in winter had fallen through, and was unable to climb out before they froze to death.

What if Jimmy had wandered onto the ice and fallen through?

Thomas felt panic rise up to choke him. "Jimmy?" he yelled. The scarf muffled his voice, so he yanked it down and called Jimmy's name again, as loudly as he could. When he received only chilling silence in response, Thomas lurched forward and broke into a run.

He ran for what felt like an eternity. The lantern swung wildly in his grip, tossing mad shadows over the ghostly trees, but still Thomas followed Jimmy's footprints as best he could and never stopped calling his name.

Then a miracle happened—Jimmy answered back.

"_Thomas?"_

It was faint, but it was undoubtedly Jimmy. Thomas called for him again and staggered to a halt to listen, but his own gasping breaths were so loud he had to smother his mouth with his gloved hand to hear.

"_Mr. Barrow? Where are you?"_

"I'm here! Stay there, I'm coming to you!"

Smiling like a lunatic, he tromped through the snow towards the sound until he saw Jimmy. Love and relief swelled in his chest at the sight of him, bringing hot tears to his eyes.

"Jimmy!" he called joyfully, waving his hand. Jimmy was alright, Jimmy was _safe_… he looked very cold and scared but he clearly wasn't hurt. Thomas could take him home now and all would be well.

On legs weak with relief, Thomas wobbled down the small hill towards Jimmy, who stood on a similar hill not far away. The tears in Thomas's eyes blurred the world around him, making everything appear as if it were underwater, but he kept his eyes fixed on Jimmy as he walked—he could see him perfectly clearly, wearing that silly gray coat—

"_No Thomas, stop!"_

Thomas kept going, bewildered by the command. "What?"

"Thomas! You're standing on the—"

Thomas heard something crack under his feet.

_Oh._

He'd forgotten all about the river.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Jimmy's heart stopped as Thomas went under.

He screamed and stumbled forward, sliding down the embankment toward the dark hole in the ice where Thomas had disappeared. Time slowed to a crawl, as it did in nightmares, and Jimmy couldn't _breathe._

_Oh god, oh god, Thomas, come back up—_

Thomas broke the surface of the black water, gasping and choking. His arms came up and he tried to grab hold of something, but his hands couldn't find purchase on the ice. There was no way he could climb out on his own—

Some dim memory surged forward in Jimmy, and suddenly he knew what to do. He threw himself down on the ground and slid onto the ice, pushing forward as fast as he could towards Thomas.

"Grab my hand!"

Thomas's face was white and his eyes were mad with shock, but his flailing hands managed to grab hold of Jimmy's.

Jimmy gripped him as tightly as he could and began to pull. For one horrifying moment _he_ was the one dragged forward towards the hole, but then Jimmy's foot found an anchor on a half-submerged stone and he braced his weight against it, and pulled with all his might.

Thomas started to come up. Jimmy gritted his teeth and pulled even harder until the water relinquished its grip on his friend, and Thomas was free, gasping and shaking on top of the ice.

Sick with relief, Jimmy slid himself and Thomas away from the hole, the ice popping ominously beneath them as they went. When they reached solid ground Jimmy staggered to his feet and grabbed Thomas around the middle, pulling him up the snow bank. He dragged Thomas to the nearest tree and braced him against it, horror filling him when he saw that Thomas's eyes were closed.

"Thomas! Thomas!" Urgently he took Thomas's face in his hands and slapped his cheeks. "Thomas, wake up!"

Thomas's eyes fluttered open, but his head rolled on his shoulders as if he were drunk. "J-jimmy, y-you're alright… oh, tha-that's g-g-good…"

Jimmy swore and shook Thomas by the shoulders, hard. "Yes, yes I'm _fine_, you bloody idiot! But what do we do, what do we do now, Thomas? _Thomas!_"

Jimmy slapped his cheeks again.

Thomas blinked and looked at him blearily. "I th-th-think… I th-think there's a sh-sh-shed close by…"

"Good! Where is it?"

Thomas's knees buckled and he would've fallen if not for Jimmy's grip on him, but somehow he managed to raise a tremulous finger and point.

Jimmy squinted through the falling snow, but he couldn't see anything but more trees. Praying Thomas wasn't delirious, Jimmy wrapped his arm around him and half dragged, half carried his shivering body in the direction he'd indicated.

It was slow going, and Jimmy's arms burned and shook with effort. Several times he nearly dropped Thomas, but each time this happened he summoned up a fire from somewhere deep inside and it gave him strength. At last, the dark form of a keeper's shed appeared in the distance. It looked old and ready to collapse but Jimmy didn't care—it was shelter. Jimmy pushed them towards it with everything he had.

When they reached it he wrenched the door open one-handed and he and Thomas toppled inside.

Groaning, Jimmy heaved himself up and slammed the door behind them, cutting off the icy wind. Then he scrambled over to Thomas and pressed his hands to his frozen cheeks, praying he was still conscious.

He was, but only just. He was shivering all over, and his red mouth had turned as white as the rest of him. He looked like some of the soldiers had back in the war—like he'd been shot or blasted full of shrapnel, and was about to die.

"Thomas, are you still with me?" Jimmy asked frantically.

"Y-yeesss," Thomas managed. His teeth were chattering so hard Jimmy could barely understand him.

Trembling himself, Jimmy stood up and looked around. It was very dark in the shed, but the window let in just enough light for him to see. There were tools and some wooden crates and buckets in the corners—but no blankets and no way to build a fire. Jimmy cursed and tore open a box at random, desperate for something, _anything_ that could help them. One had more tools in it, but the next held a heavy canvas tarp of some kind.

Jimmy dragged it out and spread it on the ground like a blanket, then he began tearing off Thomas's clothes as quickly as he could. He had imagined doing this many times before, late at night in bed when he touched himself—but his fantasies had been nothing like _this_.

"Thomas, stay awake. Just stay awake, alright? Stay awake…" Jimmy chanted.

Thomas didn't appear to be reacting much to the undressing, though Jimmy was pushing and pulling at him roughly, and that frightened Jimmy all the more. Thomas's clothes were soaked and extremely difficult to remove, but somehow Jimmy managed it. He threw the last of them aside with a cry of relief and began ripping off his own coat and shirt. As soon as he was bare from the waist up, Jimmy rolled Thomas's naked form onto the canvas and lay down with him, pressing his heart to Thomas's.

"_Fuck, fuck, fuck,"_ Jimmy swore. Thomas's skin was like ice, and he was shivering so hard he rattled Jimmy's bones.

Forcing himself not to panic, Jimmy pulled the other end of the tarp over them both and wrapped his arms and legs around Thomas, trying to lock in what meager warmth he could.

Instinctively he reached between them and found Thomas's icy fingers. The leather glove on his left hand was wet, so Jimmy unbuttoned it too and threw it over his shoulder. Then he carefully brought both of Thomas's hands up and pressed them under his chin, trying to bring the blood back into them. Christ, but they were _cold_. Thomas was shivering so hard his breaths sounded like gasping, and _oh god_ his eyes were closed again—

"Talk to me, Thomas!" He was terrified Thomas would close his eyes and not awaken.

"A-about… w-w-what?"

"I don't know, it doesn't matter, just _talk_, say anything, you have to stay awake—"

Thomas buried his face into Jimmy's neck, shuddering. His wet hair was so cold it made Jimmy hiss. "Y-you're…. v-v-very warm…?" Thomas rasped, teeth chattering.

Jimmy felt hysterical laughter threaten to burst from him. He'd never been colder in his life—he was shivering almost as hard as Thomas was. "Thank you!"

"I'm n-n-naked… aren't I?"

"Afraid so,"

Silence.

Jimmy tightened his grip on Thomas and rubbed his back, trying to give him as much of his body heat as he could. "Thank you for looking for me," Jimmy heard himself say. "I was drunk and I lost me way in the woods…"

_I don't feel so drunk now, though,_ Jimmy thought. He was certain he'd never been more sober in his life.

Thomas huffed against his neck, as if he were trying to snort in derision. "Knew y-you'd d-done something foolish."

"That's rich, coming from you," Jimmy said. Teasing, yes, teasing was _good_, it would keep Thomas talking. "Who didn't watch where he was going and walked out onto a frozen river? It sure weren't _me._"

When Thomas gave no reply, Jimmy pressed his cheek to Thomas's and spoke directly in his ear.

"_Do not_ fall asleep, Mr. Barrow. Keep yourself talking and keep your eyes open. Tell us—" Jimmy's mind was blank. Something, anything…! "—Tell us how you knew about this shed."

Thomas buried closer, and Jimmy felt his eyelashes flutter against his collarbone. "Y-years ago… I h-hid Isis in here," he said faintly. "…but shhhe g-got loose…"

Jimmy was taken aback despite everything. "What?"

"I w-were trying… to get his lordship to— to trust me so he'd… hire me as v-v-valet," Thomas explained haltingly. "S-so I kidnapped… his dog s-so I could f-find her for him later… sssee?"

Amusement and affection made Jimmy smile so hard his face hurt, and fresh tears pricked his eyes. Unthinkingly he pressed a kiss to Thomas's frozen black hair. "Blimey but you're a bastard. What happened after she got loose?"

Thomas paused, and Jimmy knew it was because he'd felt the kiss. Jimmy's heart thudded in his chest. _Oh, now you've done it._

"I-I panicked," Thomas managed. "I ran about the w-woods all night… c-cursing that bloody dog… Wh-when it were d-d-daylight I showed up on the—on the g-grounds looking a sight… with dirt all over m-me and me clothes undone, and—and here c-comes Isis b-bounding up to me… with his lordship."

"…What did his lordship say?"

"He asked me what I w-w-were doin, and I t-told him I'd been looking f-for—for his dog all night… which were true. Th-then he s-said some nonsense about—'bout b-being glad there was still decency in the world," Thomas said. "…and I got the job."

Laughter burst from Jimmy, and he couldn't stop.

He laughed until he was breathless and his stomach ached. Eventually he realized he was having some sort of fit. Horror was spreading all through him, turning his mirth to something else, something bad—not even the war had made him feel like _this_— and his breath turned to helpless, panicked gasps.

_Oh, god._

Thomas had almost died.

The ice could have taken him under and not released him.

They might've had to wait for spring to find his body.

Jimmy would've had to return to Downton alone, and he would've sat down in the servant's hall and Thomas's chair would've been empty— and it would have been empty the next day, too, and the next, and the—

"Jimmy? _Jimmy_? Wh-what's the matter? It's alright now…"

Jimmy really couldn't _breathe_ and his heart was pounding so hard he felt like it was going to explode out of his chest in a shower of blood. Desperately he clutched at Thomas, digging his nails into his back. He couldn't leave Jimmy alone—

"_Jimmy!"_

Thomas weakly pressed a hand to Jimmy's cheek, his eyes wide in the darkness as he forced Jimmy to meet his gaze.

Jimmy _saw_ Thomas and took in a breath.

_He's alive he's alive he's alive not dead and he's depending on you stop it stop it stop it— get ahold of yourself, soldier—_

Eventually Jimmy calmed himself enough to take in another breath. And another. Thomas weakly stroked Jimmy's shoulder. "That's it… that's it Jimmy… _breathe_…"

For a long time Jimmy focused only on breathing in and out, his hands gradually easing their clawed grip in Thomas's skin. He didn't look away from Thomas's eyes the whole time.

When he finally managed to get himself back under control he felt shame and exhaustion in equal measure, washing over him like a dark wave. Jimmy shut his eyes and pressed his hand to Thomas's chest, feeling his heartbeat under his palm.

_Warmth._

_Life._

_All the rest of it don't matter._

Eyes burning, Jimmy ran his hands down Thomas's back, memorizing the feel of him so close and _alive._ His front was almost as warm as Jimmy's now, but his back was still chilled, so Jimmy crawled over Thomas and pressed his bare chest to Thomas's spine. Then he wrapped his arms tight around Thomas and pressed his face into his neck, breathing in deeply. Thomas smelled like the icy river, not at all like his usual scent of cigarettes and aftershave.

Jimmy shuddered, and drew his hand back up Thomas's chest to feel his heartbeat.

Gradually Thomas's shivers eased to a faint tremor. The tarp did a lot to shelter him from the icy air in the shed; it was rough and smelled like dust, but it was dry and thicker than any blanket. Thomas was immensely grateful for it. However, it was Jimmy's heat that was slowly bringing him back to the land of the living, and it felt something like being woken from a deep sleep.

Despite the ongoing danger of their situation, a big part of Thomas was _happy_. He couldn't help but enjoy lying in Jimmy's arms. He thought he'd never know how their bodies fit together, or what Jimmy's bare skin would feel like pressed to his own—but now he knew, and no matter what happened later he'd always have this memory.

He also knew it was a good thing he was too exhausted and ill to become aroused: in any other circumstance, Thomas was certain he would've been hard as a diamond long before now.

_Or perhaps not_, Thomas thought. The part of him that wasn't happy was worried about Jimmy.

Why had Jimmy panicked and wept? Thomas had never seen anything like it, especially not from the likes of Jimmy Kent. There had been bursts of emotion from him before but it had always been anger, not—not whatever _that_ had been. It was like Jimmy had lost all control over himself, as if terror and something like grief had risen up to swallow him whole. Had Thomas falling through the ice somehow reminded Jimmy of the war, or some other awful thing? Thomas hoped not; he never wanted Jimmy to suffer as many other ex-soldiers had, shell shocked and haunted.

And now Jimmy was acting very strangely, nuzzling his face into Thomas's neck and shoulder… and he still hadn't removed his hand from Thomas's heart.

_You're mad_, Thomas told himself. _You've almost died, you should be focused on staying alive until morning, you should be making plans. What are you doing thinking about all of this rubbish?_

_But this is Jimmy Kent,_ another part of Thomas put in helpfully. _How can I not?_

Thomas would have pondered this much longer had not the ache in his left hand began to tighten and throb. It did this sometimes in cold weather, or when he strained his hand with too much physical labor. The extreme cold of the river and the way he had it curled up so tightly for warmth had finally taken its toll. Thomas winced and tried opening and closing his fingers; pain spiked up his hand to his wrist, making him draw in a sharp breath.

"What is it?" Jimmy murmured. His voice was rough, as if he'd been close to sleep.

Thomas rotated his wrist carefully, pain shooting little daggers up his arm. "Just me blighty. It hurts sometimes in the cold."

Jimmy took his palm from Thomas's chest and caught his wounded hand in his. "Would—" Jimmy stopped, and cleared his throat. "Would it help if I gave it a rub, like a… massage?"

Thomas wanted to laugh. Jimmy had an open invitation to anything he wanted as far as Thomas was concerned—especially if it involved touching him.

"It might," Thomas replied evenly.

"Turn over, then," Jimmy said.

Thomas did with an effort, his heart fluttering. _Thank god it's too dark for him to see my face,_ he thought. _Or me ugly hand_.

When he was settled on his side, Jimmy took his hand and began rubbing it gently between his own. It hurt, but Thomas didn't mind.

"Is this alright?" Jimmy asked softly.

Thomas nodded, then remembered Jimmy couldn't see him. "Yes," he said.

Jimmy continued with the massage, gradually building pressure and then releasing it. Slowly it started to feel very warm and good, the sharp pain easing back to a dull, almost non-existent ache. Thomas wondered if he should tell Jimmy it was alright to stop now, or if he should just keep quiet so Jimmy would continue—

Jimmy's lips brushed the back of his hand.

Thomas's breath stuttered in shock. Surely that hadn't _really_ been—

Jimmy kissed his fingers, very lightly, and there was no mistaking it. Then he did it again and again until he was pressing desperate kisses all over Thomas's wounded hand, his breath hot against Thomas's skin.

"_Jimmy,"_ Thomas gasped. "What are you—"

"Shut it!" Jimmy snapped. His voice cracked and he sounded angry. Thomas was too shocked to make sense of it, his head spinning.

"Don't say one word, this is all _your_ fault, you _bleedin' lavender bastard_," Jimmy spat. Through the tender, warm kisses Thomas thought he felt a drop of water. Was Jimmy crying?

"I hate you," Jimmy hissed with passion.

"Jimmy—"

"_I said be quiet!"_

Then Thomas felt Jimmy fumble for his face in the dark, and as soon as he found it he closed the space between them and began pressing more kisses all over Thomas's mouth and chin and hair, wherever he could reach. Thomas felt drunk with joy—perhaps he'd died after all, and this was some sort of gloriously strange afterlife—

"Just once, alright, just once," Jimmy was muttering between kisses. "I just want it _one_ time and then I won't ask for any more—"

Thomas tried to kiss Jimmy back, wishing he could see his face, but he couldn't catch Jimmy's mouth with his.

"Just once, just once," Jimmy said again. It sounded almost as if he were talking to himself and not Thomas, but Thomas responded anyway.

"Jimmy what—what do you mean?"

Jimmy groaned softly and rolled on top of Thomas, his breath coming in quick pants. Thomas felt another drop of hot water hit his cheek. _"I love you,"_ Jimmy breathed, and it sounded like an accusation. "But I never asked for this, it's all your fault, so just one time we're going to— but never again, alright? Just here, _once_—"

Another kiss to his lips, and this time Thomas reached up and held Jimmy to him, kissing him deeply.

Jimmy kissed him back clumsily, his mouth trembling and soft, and Thomas felt such a fierce loving tenderness for him that it was like his heart was breaking. _Jimmy Kent loved him_.

If this was death, Thomas thought, then it weren't so bad at all.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Thomas's entire body bloomed with heat, making him dizzy. _Oh_, he wouldn't survive this.

Jimmy was kissing him, pressing his hips into him, and he tasted like alcohol and something tangy and sweet— raspberries? Thomas chased the flavor, the weakness in his body forgotten as he ran his hands down Jimmy's perfect back. He felt so _very_ good—lean and warm and heavy atop him—and Jimmy's erection was pressing against his bare thigh.

Thomas felt something in his brain pop and fizz like fresh champagne.

Jimmy broke the kiss, gasping, and Thomas didn't even have time to take in a full breath before Jimmy's mouth was at his neck, sucking hard with just an edge of teeth.

"_Jimmy,"_ he hissed, gripping Jimmy's hair to prevent him from moving. He was so aroused he could barely think, but Jimmy was more important, always. "Are you—are you _sure_ you—?"

Jimmy groaned in frustration. "_Yes_, just let me do it Thomas—"

Jimmy felt Thomas give in beneath him, his hand releasing Jimmy's hair and falling to his neck instead. In that moment Jimmy realized how afraid he'd been that Thomas would refuse him—he deserved much worse than rejection, after everything he'd put Thomas through—but as always Thomas couldn't help himself when it came to Jimmy.

Oh, how Jimmy _loved_ him.

"Alright Jimmy," Thomas said, and Jimmy didn't know why he sounded so damn tender and soft when Jimmy felt like he was on fire, or like he'd die if Thomas didn't touch him. His heart was racing and his cock pounded between his legs, and all he wanted was for Thomas to roll him over and—and—Jimmy didn't know what exactly, he just knew he needed Thomas to _take_ him, in whatever way he could, until there was nothing left of him capable of feeling.

Jimmy pulled himself up to kiss Thomas's mouth, and as he did he clearly felt Thomas's erection slide against his stomach, burning a path on his skin like a brand. Jimmy cried out, his hips surging into Thomas.

"_Oh Christ,"_

Unthinkingly he reached down and unbuttoned his trousers, trying to relieve the pressure on his prick. For a moment he struggled, then Thomas's hands joined his, expertly helping him push down his trousers and underthings. As soon as he was free of his clothes Thomas's hands finally grew more daring, running over Jimmy's body from his shoulders to his chest and stomach, then around to his backside. One hand was smooth as silk but the other was rough, and the eroticism of it had Jimmy shaking and whimpering into Thomas's mouth, pushing his cock helplessly into Thomas's hip over and over again.

Thomas made a noise like he was in pain, and then suddenly Jimmy was on his back, and Thomas was between his legs.

Jimmy arched into him, his breath coming out like sobs when Thomas aligned their erections and began to thrust. Jimmy wouldn't last, he really wouldn't—desperately he raked his nails down Thomas's back, and Thomas kissed him, biting his lower lip just hard enough to sting. Jimmy cursed and raised his knees, wrapping his legs around Thomas's hips to pull him closer, his prick leaking between their bodies. Oh, but the _friction_, it was too cold even under the tarp for enough sweat—

"_Thomas, oh please oh please Thomas please—"_

Thomas stopped thrusting and Jimmy heard a spitting sound, and then—

Jimmy's whole body jerked. Thomas was coating their pricks in something hot and wet, his deft fingers briefly stroking them together, and Jimmy bucked and writhed at the touch. _Oh, oh—_ and then Thomas removed his hand and began to push their bodies together, his breath scorching on Jimmy's skin.

Something in Jimmy snapped.

He shouted and clutched at Thomas, gripping the place where his hips surged against Jimmy, and that was enough. Jimmy cried out and came, seeing stars explode behind his eyes. The blazing pleasure of it rippled through his entire body, leaving him weak and destroyed on the other side of some great chasm. Distantly he heard Thomas groaning out blasphemies and endearments and Jimmy's name, rolling his hips into the wetness on Jimmy's belly. Jimmy wound his hands around Thomas's arms and held on.

Thomas thrust hard against him four more times before he stiffened and came, his orgasm silent but for a sharp drawn-in breath. Then Thomas fell against him, trembling, and Jimmy could do nothing but lay there, stunned.

He felt as if he'd been shattered, and all the pieces of him scattered to the winds.

Sometime later, Jimmy came back to himself.

He expected to feel panicked or out of control, but he didn't. Instead he was just… content.

Nothing had ever been like that—well, _literally_ nothing had ever been like that, because he'd never done anything like it before. But now, as he lay beneath Thomas with the evidence of what they'd done spilled all over his skin, he didn't feel afraid for the first time in a very long time.

"You alright, Jimmy?" Thomas asked softly. His voice was barely a thread of sound in the dark, utterly wrecked.

Jimmy tentatively patted Thomas's back, not sure how to touch him anymore. "Yes, o' course."

Haltingly Thomas shifted to the side and slid off Jimmy, his limbs shaking with the effort. Jimmy felt a stab of guilt. He'd done… _that_ to Thomas when he was weak and had almost died… they were lucky Thomas hadn't fainted in the middle of it.

Thomas resettled at Jimmy's side and draped an arm across his chest, sighing into Jimmy's shoulder. Jimmy knew they'd both be asleep within moments—if he were going to say what he needed to say, he had to do it now.

Jimmy's heart thumped. "Thomas?"

"…Hm?"

"I told you this was just for tonight, and I stand by what I said."

Thomas pressed a kiss to Jimmy's shoulder, saying nothing.

Jimmy swallowed hard, his throat suddenly tight.

"When we get back to the house it will be just like before," he went on roughly. "We'll be mates, and that's _all_."

He waited for Thomas to protest, but he remained silent. Jimmy forced himself to go on. "I know you want love and all of that soppy nonsense. I suppose you think we should continue with this and keep it a secret, but it wouldn't work. You're bloody terrible at hiding it as it is, and I'm not— I'm not—" Jimmy faltered. He didn't know how to explain that bit, so he skipped it and moved on. "—So we're not doing it again."

Jimmy wasn't sure if he were making any sense. Hot tears were burning in his eyes, threatening to fall at any moment. He just needed Thomas to know, to understand: _Jimmy couldn't do this._

"Alright, Jimmy," Thomas murmured, his breath warm on Jimmy's skin. He didn't sound upset, or angry, or even _surprised_.

Jimmy stiffened, outraged. "So you don't believe me, then?" he snapped. "Think now that I've had a taste, I won't be able to help myself later? Or are you going to try an' seduce me, trick me into changing me mind?"

Thomas huffed. "No," he said, sounding very tired. "I haven't got any tricks, or whatever else you're thinking I've got up me sleeve…"

Jimmy was taken aback. "Then why aren't you _protesting_?"

Maybe he'd been really poor at it—Jimmy's pride shrank from the idea in horror.

"I'm too bloody exhausted to protest…" Thomas muttered. "Of course I'm sure I'll be in quite the state come morning, but you needn't worry, Jimmy, I believe you meant every word. And I'm not going to try an'—an' _seduce_ you, or do anything else you don't want me to."

Jimmy relaxed slightly, though his heart still pounded. "Then what _are_ you going to do, then?" he demanded.

"I suppose I'll do what I did before," Thomas said softly. "I'll be your friend. If you never give me more than that, I'll be happy enough just being near you— of course I'll be hoping you change your mind, but there's nothing wrong with having hope, is there?"

Jimmy snorted, the tears in his eyes finally spilling over. Thomas was a ridiculous, soppy _fool_. With everyone else he was cold and unforgiving, sharp as a knife— but with Jimmy he were soft and sweet as jam on toast.

"No, I suppose not…" Jimmy whispered.

Jimmy slept fitfully.

He woke many times in the night, the cold preventing him from achieving a deep sleep for long. Twice he woke because he accidentally pulled an arm or leg out from under the protection of the tarp, and the icy air had him jolting awake in panic.

Once he dreamed about Thomas falling into the river.

In the dream Jimmy couldn't move to save him, and he'd had to watch helplessly as Thomas thrashed in the water until his strength gave out. After he disappeared under the ice Jimmy saw his parents standing on the other side of the river, watching silently; it was as if they were waiting for Thomas to join them and leave Jimmy all alone.

This dream had Jimmy shaking awake in horror, and he had to lay with his ear pressed to Thomas's heart for the rest of the night.

Eventually the gray-blue light of dawn began filtering through the tiny window, so Jimmy roused himself from his stupor. He dug under the tarp and found his trousers, sliding them on clumsily.

He wondered how they could get back to Downton when Thomas had nothing to wear—the water logged clothes were now a frosted tangle on the floor of the shed, and his boots looked like lumps of ice. Even if he could somehow dress Thomas for the cold, the man was likely too weak to make the journey. It would probably fall to Jimmy to go back alone, and then return with a proper rescue team.

Jimmy blinked and rubbed his sore eyes. His thoughts felt slow; he was painfully thirsty and hungry, and his head pounded. Even beneath all that he craved a smoke…

_His lighter._

It was still in his coat pocket if he remembered right. Could he build a fire now that the storm had passed? Once there was enough light to see by, perhaps he could, then he and Thomas could warm up properly.

Jimmy congratulated himself on his clever thinking and leaned down to brush a soft kiss to Thomas's forehead. Then he snuggled down under the tarp to wait, tucking his head under Thomas's chin.

He didn't have to wait long; as soon as he could see well enough to tell what sort of tools hung on the walls, Jimmy slipped out from under the tarp and hissed as his shirtless body felt the cold. As quickly as he could he found his shirt, coat, and boots, and put them on.

His lighter was just where it always was: in his right breast pocket. He investigated the contents of the shed and found a small pile of dry, dirty rags that would suffice for kindling—but he'd have to venture outdoors for firewood.

Jimmy grimaced.

Before he left he checked on Thomas again, stroking his lovely hair away from his face. He looked beautiful even like this, his face relaxed in sleep, his skin pale and perfect but for the shadows under his eyes. Jimmy prayed he would recover from this ordeal without falling ill. Sickness could be just as frightening as gunfire in Jimmy's opinion…

Jimmy shivered and pressed another light kiss to Thomas's skin.

Distantly Jimmy wondered how he was ever going to live without being so close to Thomas again, but he shoved the thought aside. Now was not the time.

Jimmy left the shed and quietly shut the door behind him, his breath coming out as white clouds in the silent air. Everything looked blue and gray, the sun a distant yellow glow beyond the dark trees. The snow had piled up even more overnight, Jimmy realized; it came up almost to his knees now.

Cursing softly, Jimmy waded through it to look for firewood.

It was very difficult; the snow covered everything, and the low tree branches within his reach were likely too moist to burn easily. After a long and fruitless search, Jimmy finally found a fallen tree near the river. It looked to have been dead just long enough to dry out, but not long enough that it had grown soft with rot.

He broke and tore and wrenched as much wood from the tree as he could and made his way back to the shed. For good measure, he made two more trips to the tree and back so he had a sizable pile stacked next to the door.

With that done, Jimmy dug a large hole in the snow, clearing an area from the shed's doorway to a spot a safe distance away. There he began building his fire, arranging the wood expertly. As a young boy his father had put him in charge of all the fires in the house, and though he'd resented the extra chore at the time he was now glad of his father's rigid insistence on it—it meant he was excellent at starting fires.

The kindling and the wood were certainly not ideal—the rags didn't burn well, and though the wood was dry much of it was wet on the outside with melted snow. Still, Jimmy kept at it, cursing with frustration all the while, until finally the fire caught and warmth began to radiate into the air. Jimmy slumped back in relief, listening to the fire crackle and pop. Christ, but he was _knackered_…

"Jimmy?"

Jimmy jumped up and opened the door to find Thomas awake, shivering and wide-eyed. His red lips were pale again, and his eyes had dark shadows beneath them. In the brighter light of day it was obvious he was not well.

"Are you alright?" Jimmy asked, fear tightening his stomach.

Thomas nodded, though he looked ready to collapse back to the shed floor at any moment.

"I've built us a fire outside," Jimmy said. "Let's get you wrapped up tight, and I'll help you sit next to it."

Thinking fast, Jimmy took one of the wooden crates and set it by the fire so Thomas didn't have to sit on the ground. Then he helped Thomas stand up and shuffle outside.

Once Thomas was safely sitting near the flames, Jimmy brought out a box for himself and sat down close beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Looks like I'll have to go back to Downton and get together a proper rescue party for you," Jimmy said. "And call Dr. Clarkson, of course."

"Makes sense," Thomas rasped. "But you mustn't get lost again, Jimmy."

Jimmy bristled. "I _won't_. Its daylight now and I can see the sun to tell the direction, can't I?"

Thomas's lips curled up slightly. "Right," he agreed. "If you head west you should make it to the road, and from there to Downton before they serve lunch."

Jimmy pretended he'd already known that detail. "Alright, then I'd better go now while I've still got strength left. I feel like shite meself, but I imagine it's quite a bit worse for you."

Thomas nodded again, and Jimmy stood up. "Do you need me to fetch you anything before I go?" Not that there was much he could actually do.

Thomas squinted up at him, dark hair falling into blue eyes, and even ill and weak Thomas was strikingly beautiful. Suddenly Jimmy remembered the night before, and how he'd never gotten to see Thomas's face when he was undone by pleasure; it had been too dark.

Now he'd never know…

"Got a cig?" Thomas asked.

Jimmy swallowed the lump in his throat and fished in his pocket for one, sticking it in his own mouth to light for Thomas. When it was lit he passed it to him, watching Thomas slide a pale hand out of the tarp to lift it to his lips. The sight of Thomas smoking reassured Jimmy a bit—it was familiar, and the way Thomas did it was like seeing art in motion. No one else smoked like he did.

"Just… just stay upright until I come back for you," Jimmy said awkwardly.

"I'll do me best," Thomas agreed. He was watching Jimmy still, but Jimmy had no idea what he was thinking.

Jimmy shuffled his feet in the snow, unwilling to leave. Once he left, the spell cast by the isolation and the danger would be gone, and Jimmy wouldn't be able to do all the things he wanted…

Before he could second guess himself, Jimmy knelt on the ground in front of Thomas and took the cigarette away from his mouth. Thomas's eyes widened, but he didn't say anything as Jimmy leaned up to kiss him. He made it the best kiss he could, warm and deep and sweet—because it would be the last time he'd ever kiss Thomas Barrow, or anyone else for as long as he lived.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The snow began to melt two days after Thomas and Jimmy returned to Downton. It rained on the third day, washing the world around the abbey into a watercolor of grays and browns and blues.

Thomas watched the snow disappear from his bedroom window, pressing his fevered forehead to the cold glass and trying not to feel.

He'd fallen ill after his night in the shed, of course.

His head pounded, his chest and throat ached, and his temperature was high, but mostly he was simply exhausted to the point of immobility. He slept for almost 15 hours that first day, not even registering humiliation at having to be carried to his bed by the hall boys and Tom Branson, who had driven him back to Downton in one of the Crawley's sleighs. It was one for the history books, to be sure, but as it was Thomas was far too ill to care about any of it.

Despite the severity of his condition Dr. Clarkson told everyone in the house not to worry. He prescribed bed rest, hydration, and plenty of proper food.

"You're lucky to be alive," Dr. Clarkson told him after the examination. "That footman of yours saved your life— and your fingers and toes, come to that."

"I know that," Thomas muttered back, delirious and half asleep already. "He's brilliant…"

For once in his life Thomas was a good patient and spent most his recovery sleeping. During his waking hours he did his best not to _think_, but it was difficult when his bare skin was marked up by Jimmy's mouth and nails and fingers, small wounds that were slow to heal. Thomas loved them, and dreaded their eventual fading.

Every day of his convalescence he waited for Jimmy to come to see him, but he never did. Thomas wished that didn't hurt so much. Instead the hall boys brought him his meals, and anything else he asked for came from the new footman or Mr. Carson.

The isolation weighed on Thomas very quickly once the fever lifted. Even the ticking of his pocket watch, usually such a comfort to him, began to grate on his nerves in the silence of the room. It was all very lonesome—books and magazines only went so far. Thomas was a bit embarrassed at himself for how much he missed Jimmy, too. He even began to have dreams about Jimmy coming into his room at night, just to check on him and stroke his hair, but that was wishful thinking on his part and he knew it.

_It's only been a few days_, Thomas thought with a bitter smile. _You're ridiculous_.

On the fifth day he went back to work, relieved to rejoin the world even if he were still a little weak. He didn't know what would happen between he and Jimmy now—_friends_, Jimmy had said—and Thomas had promised not to romance him. But how could they go on as they had been, as if nothing had changed? Thomas had to see Jimmy, if only to find out.

When he arrived in the servants' hall that morning he was greeted more warmly than he ever had been in his life: Mrs. Hughes fussed over him and asked how he was feeling, Mrs. Patmore patted him on the back, and Daisy snuck him two chocolate biscuits under the table. Even Mr. Carson seemed pleased to see him up and about, though he didn't fail to mention how reckless acts of heroism were not something those in service should aspire to. All in all, though, it seemed to Thomas that nearly dying in an act of heroism did wonders for one's reputation. It was quite nice, really.

When Jimmy came in Thomas had to struggle to keep his countenance.

"Oh, there's your hero now, Mr. Barrow," Mrs. Hughes teased, rolling her eyes over her teacup. Jimmy's eyes flicked up at her words and found Thomas immediately. He froze mid-step, but recovered quickly and looked away from Thomas again, shooting an inexplicably nasty glare at Mrs. Hughes.

Jimmy did not look _right_, Thomas realized after a moment. His hair was limp and his eyes were dull, and he hadn't done up his collar quite right. Was Jimmy still not well? Mr. Carson had told him Jimmy had recovered days ago, but perhaps he was wrong; lying about his health was certainly something Jimmy might do, if he had what he thought was a good reason to do so.

"Nearly late to breakfast _again_, James…" Mr. Carson drawled. "And _what_ is your collar doing?"

Jimmy ducked his head and muttered an apology, his hands flying up to fix his collar. Then he sat down in his usual place across from Thomas, his back unusually stiff.

"I'm glad you're feeling better, Mr. Barrow," Jimmy said, staring over Thomas's left shoulder instead of looking at him directly. "Very glad,"

Thomas nodded at him, his heart aching in his chest.

"Well, Mr. Barrow," Mrs. Hughes said, interrupting his thoughts. "Are you going to tell us about your ice adventure? We've heard all about it from James, of course, but I expect the young ones won't be easy until you've told your side of it…"

Thomas forced a smile. "Well, I suppose I might tell of it," he said. "If Mr. Carson doesn't mind such a conversation at breakfast…"

Mr. Carson looked disgruntled, but one look from Mrs. Hughes silenced his objections, so Thomas told the story—heavily abridged, of course. He didn't tell them about Jimmy tearing off his wet clothes, although any idiot should know it was the only way he would've survived, and he skimmed over being under the tarp with Jimmy. Instead he described in detail the horror of the cold, and how heroic Jimmy had been, diving across the ice like that to save him. It had been like a scene from a film, really, with Jimmy as the dashing hero.

Jimmy mostly picked at his food while Thomas spoke, a carefully neutral expression held up over his features. However, whenever Thomas described something particularly brave or intelligent that Jimmy had done and the others chimed in to praise him, Jimmy stiffened into something resembling an ice sculpture, his mouth twisting into faint shapes of disgust. Thomas would have guessed Jimmy would love all the attention and admiration… so why didn't he?

Something was very wrong with him, Thomas thought. Something more than just what had happened between them.

Mrs. Levinson and her son arrived at Downton not two weeks after Thomas's return to work. There were extra tasks to be done for everyone, and more people crowding both the upstairs and down—it was all just barely controlled chaos.

For once Thomas was grateful for the added distractions; it helped keep him from completely losing his head over Jimmy who, Thomas could see, was not feeling right in himself at all. Thomas didn't understand _why_, though. The inner workings of Jimmy's mind remained as mysterious as they ever had been. Sometimes Thomas reviewed the facts in his head in an attempt to understand, but he didn't get very far with it.

He hadn't imagined Jimmy's tears or his desire; Jimmy cared for him and wanted him, without a doubt. Sometimes the joy of this knowledge carried Thomas through his days as if he were floating on a cloud, and he felt almost happy. More often than not, however, he felt as if he were bleeding internally.

Jimmy loved him, but something held Jimmy back from _choosing_ him, even though it seemed to be against his own will. Jimmy had explained why in the shed but he hadn't really explained _anything_, or so Thomas thought later. He bitterly regretted not being in a sound state of mind at the time, as his memories of the conversation post-lovemaking were somewhat hazy. He had a feeling he'd forgotten something important that Jimmy had said. He was sure it wasn't just the fear of being caught that frightened Jimmy, and held him back. Sometimes Thomas wanted to go to him and shake him, ask him _why_, and tell him there were ways for them to be together and happy even in this world, and not to be so frightened…

But Thomas did his best not to concentrate on his own feelings. Jimmy's wellbeing, his job, perhaps even his _sanity_ seemed to be at risk.

If Jimmy had been off before, with his drinking and bouts of melancholy, then now he was positively falling to pieces. At least before he'd maintained his outward appearance—he'd play piano, make disdainful remarks, tease the kitchen maids—but now he rarely spoke at all; it was like all the fire in him had burned out. He drifted through work, he never played piano, he didn't laugh or complain or scoff or read the newspaper…he barely even ate anything at dinner. As for the drinking, Jimmy only did it in his room now, alone, which was hardly an improvement.

Perhaps the strangest change in him was his newfound temper. He'd had one all along, to be sure, but now he snapped in anger quite often—especially if anyone talked of the ice rescue or called him a hero. Thomas wasn't sure why he should object to these compliments; who didn't want to be called brave? But object Jimmy did, quite passionately, until eventually everyone learned to stop mentioning it in his presence.

And it wasn't just Thomas who was worried: everyone downstairs had noticed something was wrong with Jimmy.

Even Mrs. Hughes, who had never been a great fan of Jimmy's, told Mr. Carson that perhaps Jimmy needed to see Dr. Clarkson again.

Thomas tried to get through to Jimmy, of course.

If Thomas coaxed him just right, he could persuade Jimmy to play cards in the servants' hall, but that was the extent of his success. Ever since that night Jimmy never allowed himself to be alone with Thomas: that meant no more evening smokes or trips into town, and no more visits to each other's rooms for a drink and a chat. He was very careful about it: if he and Thomas happened to find themselves alone, even somewhere public like the servants' hall, Jimmy would get up and leave without a word. Thomas desperately wanted to talk to Jimmy alone, find out exactly what was troubling him so much, if it was anything _he_ had done, but he was terrified of overstepping his bounds with Jimmy in such a fragile state of mind. Thomas had seen Jimmy shatter that night in the shed and it haunted him. Edward Courtenay hadn't been nearly so demonstrative with his feelings and look what he'd done to himself… not that Thomas really thought _Jimmy_ might harm himself, but it still felt much too dangerous to risk any pushing.

Sometimes a part of Thomas wondered if Jimmy needed him to push; perhaps if Thomas came to him and held him, then all this depression would lift—Jimmy loved Thomas, after all—but Thomas rather thought not. Jimmy's entire life seemed to have suffered since they'd made love, anything more could very well finish him.

_I should wait for him to come to terms with it all,_ Thomas told himself. _He wanted me to be his friend, and until he tells me otherwise that is all I shall be._

Still, Thomas desperately wanted to help Jimmy, even if it meant he couldn't have him, but he had no idea how to do so.

It was nearly February by the time it all came to a head.

Thomas was just passing by Carson's office after dinner one night when he heard Jimmy's voice within. Naturally he stopped to listen. Visits to Carson's office rarely meant anything good, and Jimmy had been getting into more trouble than usual lately.

"—_You've even been neglecting your appearance!"_ Mr. Carson was almost shouting. "And I never thought I'd say that about _you,_ James."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Carson," Jimmy said stiffly, but underneath Thomas could detect a tremor in his voice. Jimmy was rather frightened of Mr. Carson at the best of times, and now the old codger was shouting at him? Thomas's hands tightened into fists. _Can't you see he's having a hard time?_ Thomas thought angrily.

"Sorry won't make up for your slovenly ways and bad temper as of late," Mr. Carson said darkly. "And as for the disaster this evening…! You're lucky her ladyship and the dowager countess stepped in to defend you, if they hadn't I would've thrown you out with a very bad reference indeed, do you understand?"

Thomas sucked in a breath. What in bloody hell had Jimmy done?

"Yes, Mr. Carson," Jimmy said quickly. "I'll do better in the future, I promise."

There was a long pause, and then Mr. Carson heaved a sigh. "I'm not entirely without sympathy, James. I know something's been troubling you these past weeks… _ah_, now, I don't need to know what it is— in fact I'd prefer _not_ to know— but whatever it is I want you to get it sorted and put away. Personal matters should not interfere with your work here, not _ever_, do you understand?"

"Yes, Mr. Carson,"

"Good. Now, tomorrow I want to see a flawless performance. If you set one toe out of line again, be it tomorrow or a year from now, I'll find a replacement and don't think I won't. Working for a great family like the Crawleys is a privilege and an honor, and you would do well to remember that and be grateful."

"…Yes, sir."

Another sigh. Then Thomas assumed Mr. Carson made a shooing motion with his hands because Jimmy's footsteps started for the door. Thomas sprang back and hurried over to the stairs, making as if he'd just started to go up for the night.

Jimmy opened the door with his golden head bent down. When he looked up and saw Thomas, his tight expression briefly crumbled before he dropped his gaze and made to rush past him. Thomas considered letting him go only for a moment—but enough was enough. Waiting hadn't done any good, so it was time to try something else.

"Wait," Thomas said. It was only one word and softly spoken, but it stopped Jimmy dead in his tracks. "Come to my room with me, I need to talk to you. Please, Jimmy."

He braced himself for the inevitable refusal, but it never came.

"…Alright," Jimmy said.

Shocked but infinitely grateful he didn't have to argue, Thomas led Jimmy up the long staircase in silence. He glanced at Jimmy only once and found a curious expression of relief in his face, as if a great pain had suddenly been lifted from him. The sight made Thomas's heart turn over.

Once they were safely in Thomas's room he shut the door, watching Jimmy warily. The younger man wasn't even looking at him; instead he drifted over to Thomas's window and peered out, his posture loosening until he was slumped against the windowsill. Now Thomas could see what Mr. Carson had meant about Jimmy's appearance—his jacket was creased, and his usually neat hair was mussed on top.

Thomas had to swallow against the memory of fisting those loose curls in his hands while Jimmy kissed him.

"It's snowing again," Jimmy said, sounding tired.

Thomas coughed. "Yes, according to the old men in the village we've had the worst winter Yorkshire's seen in fifty years or thereabouts."

Jimmy nodded, keeping his back to Thomas, and the silence stretched out between them awkwardly.

Thomas shifted uncomfortably, his chest tight. He couldn't believe he'd finally got Jimmy alone only to talk about the sodding _weather._ What he _wanted_ to do was take Jimmy in his arms and kiss him until all the shadows went away, and Jimmy lit up and shone like the sun. He'd always seemed bright like that to Thomas, before. Now he was like a ghost of himself.

Holding in a sigh, Thomas sat down in his desk chair and lit a cigarette. "So, care to tell me what happened at dinner?"

Jimmy groaned and dropped his head onto his folded arms. "I knew you heard that."

"I did," Thomas said without shame.

Jimmy sighed. "…It were so bloody _stupid_,"

"Was it?" Thomas drawled. "I would've never guessed."

This got Jimmy to turn around at last, a breathless little laugh escaping him. "Like _you_ can talk," he said. "I've heard some interesting stories about you, Mr. Barrow,"

"I think I've told you most of them."

Jimmy smiled at him, and for a moment he looked like his old self. Thomas's heart warmed. But as quickly as the expression appeared on his face, it fell away and he looked pale and drawn once more.

"I yelled at her ladyship's mother," Jimmy admitted on a breath.

Thomas nearly spat his cigarette out. _"What?_ What'd ya do that for?"

"Well, I didn't exactly think it through, did I?" Jimmy grumbled. "It just came out before I could stop it."

Thomas couldn't believe Carson hadn't murdered him, let alone let him keep his job. "But—_why?_"

Jimmy looked down at his feet. "She—she were pestering me, asking me questions that weren't none of her business!"

Thomas gaped at him. "Like _what?_"

Jimmy huffed angrily, crossing his arms over his chest. "First she was going on about how _handsome_ I was, and if I were courting one of the kitchen maids, and how she couldn't find footmen in America as handsome as me—"

Thomas shook his head, not getting it.

"—and then everyone started talking about me saving you from the river," Jimmy said, and this time Thomas could see something in his face that looked like…fear? Shame? "I'm so _sick_ of them always _talking_ about it. And she said, 'oh, a brave hero and a rare beauty, how wonderful!' or some such nonsense, and I just… I _snapped_. I told her to keep her bloody mouth _shut_ because my life weren't none of her business!"

"Bleedin' Christ, Jimmy!" Thomas swore. "That weren't nothing, what in _hell_… you could've been thrown out!"

Finally Jimmy looked appropriately fearful. "I know, I know!"

"Then why did you do it? What's so bad about someone calling you brave and handsome? _You are those things."_

Jimmy's mouth worked, but no sound came out. Finally he said, in a very small voice: "But I'm _not_, Thomas. I'm really not."

Thomas shot to his feet, suddenly afraid Jimmy might topple over. He'd gone very white. To be safe Thomas carefully guided Jimmy onto his bed and knelt down in front of him. It occurred to him that _here_ might be the answer to Jimmy's bizarre behavior as of late— his depression and strange, out-of-place bursts of rage. But he had to tread softly, lest he frighten Jimmy away.

"Why's that, then?" Thomas asked as gently as he could.

Jimmy swallowed. "I'm… I'm not attractive, really."

Thomas had to work very hard not to scoff, or laugh. He sensed if he did Jimmy would bolt. _"What's_ not…" he stopped and cleared his throat, then tried again in a more level tone. "_Why_ do you think that?"

For the first time Thomas wondered if Jimmy weren't actually mad.

Jimmy looked away from him, his face pinched in misery. "I—physically I suppose I look alright, when I smile and do my hair and that," Jimmy said. "But… but if you could see my real face—when what I'm thinking shows up in me looks, I mean, or when I'm feeling… f-feeling things that I _always _feel, I'm ugly. I'm really quite ugly, Thomas. Didn't you see it when I was so cruel to you before? My face gets all _twisted_…I'm not a good— I'm not kind, and I'm not strong or even very clever, and I'm… I'm a coward. A selfish, bloody coward."

Thomas stared at him, speechless. He'd never heard such utter rubbish in his entire life, and yet he could see that Jimmy believed it wholeheartedly.

"During the war…" Jimmy said tremulously. Thomas's heart seized just at the word. Jimmy never talked of the war. "I didn't kill anyone. I couldn't shoot worth a damn and I was useless at everything else. I—I cried every night, and every day when no one were looking— I prayed others would die if only I could live—"

"Jimmy!" Thomas interjected, horrified. "None of that makes you a coward, darling, that's—that's _different_, that's _war_, and anyway everyone did those things! _Everyone_, at least once, and if they say any different now then they're _lying_.'"

He took Jimmy's hands in his, and squeezed, willing Jimmy to believe him. "And remember what I told you I did?" he asked grimly. "You said you didn't think it were cowardly, were you lying?"

Jimmy shook his head, eyes bright with unshed tears. "But me dad were brave—he fought and he died a hero. And—and _you're _brave, Thomas. You're the bravest man I've ever met."

Thomas didn't understand this. All these terrible things Jimmy believed, all these terrible, _ridiculous_ things that were eating him up inside—and yet, he still thought _Thomas_ was the bravest man he'd ever known? Thomas was no coward and he knew it, but he certainly wasn't some kind of knight from a fairy story, either. He looked after himself always, and didn't give a toss about most other people. But to Jimmy he was something greater than he was, and that was… strange. Strange and wonderful and humbling.

"Jimmy…" Thomas said softly. "You _are _brave. You _are._ You saved me from the ice, didn't you? You knew just what to do to save me, and you risked your own life to do it. It were one of the bravest things I've ever seen. And it was _clever_, and it was _kind_…"

Jimmy's mouth trembled, but no tears fell. He seemed to be holding them back by sheer force of will.

Thomas waited for him to speak, but when he didn't Thomas asked, "Are you saying the reason you've been acting like this lately isn't because of me, and what happened in the shed, but because you— you hate yourself? You think you're cowardly and… ugly?"

Thomas wasn't sure which was more absurd.

Jimmy sucked in a ragged breath at Thomas's words, then let it out in a rush and shook his head. "You've only got part of it right."

Thomas smiled at him a little. "Could you try to explain? Because I don't understand…"

Jimmy wiped at his wet eyes and stood up shakily. "If I'm going to do this then I need a drink."

"No," Thomas said firmly, also getting to his feet. "You've had enough these past weeks to last you a year or more."

Jimmy glared at him, but Thomas was not alarmed. Nasty looks suited Jimmy better than crying ever could, and if Thomas had his choice he'd take Jimmy's teeth over his tears any day of the week.

Before Jimmy could storm out of his room in search of his own liquor, Thomas produced a cigarette and a bottle of wine from his bedside cabinet.

"You just _said _no _drinks_," Jimmy grumbled, taking the cigarette and watching Thomas pour them each a glass.

"It's only wine," Thomas said easily. "And we're each only having one, so sip it slowly if you want it to last through this conversation."

Jimmy took the cigarette and held still while Thomas lit it, considering this. Finally he sat back down on the bed, the lines of his body tense and brittle.

Thomas sat in the chair again, watching him take the wine and drink it before he spoke. "Is this what you mean by your face twisting up?" he asked after a long moment. He hadn't meant to ask that first but it was too late to take it back now.

Jimmy flinched, and glanced uneasily at himself in Thomas's vanity mirror. "A—a bit." He admitted stiffly. "But it's worse, a _lot_ worse sometimes."

Thomas shook his head. "Well, I don't see anything bad about it," he said frankly, waving his cigarette for emphasis. "You're always beautiful, you know, and when you make those nasty faces they only make me love you more."

"Ha!" Jimmy snorted in derision, his cheeks flushing. "You're a lying bastard—"

"I'm not," Thomas insisted firmly. "I like them— ah, as long as they're not directed at me, I like them. They make me _happy_. Sometimes I remember them later and smile, or… or I think about taking you to bed until you forget why you were making those faces to begin with."

Jimmy gaped at Thomas, his cigarette frozen halfway to his mouth. His blush visibly darkened.

"Of course I don't like it when you're unhappy," Thomas amended quickly, feeling heat in his own skin. "Now that I know you better, though, I think I can tell the difference between your contrariness, or your disgust, or when you just despise someone, from the times when you're—upset."

Thomas shifted uncomfortably. He wished Jimmy would react, or at least take a breath. He was as still as a statue, sitting there with ashes falling off his cigarette. "So what's the other bit of it then?" he asked. "You said that was only part of it."

Jimmy let out a long breath at last, and ran both hands through his hair in agitation. Then he downed his wine in just a few pulls, leaving the glass empty.

"What d'ya think?" he muttered. "The rest of it's _you_, of course."

Thomas frowned. "But I've kept my promise. I've been your friend and I haven't _done_ anything—"

Jimmy's hands went up to cover his face, and he leaned forward until his head were nearly pressed to his knees. "Christ, Thomas," he groaned. "It's nothing you've _done_, you don't have to do anything for me to—it's just that I want you so much it's driving me _mad._"

_Oh._ Thomas sucked in a breath, his heart tripping over itself.

"Jimmy, you can _have_ me, always—"

"No I can't, I'm not brave enough to live that sort of life, always hiding—I never planned to love anyone, ever, _not ever_, did you know that?"

Thomas shook his head, speechless.

"I knew for certain I wanted you not long after you kissed me, but I thought I could change it—I mean, I didn't think I was really _that_ sort—or if I was I could just ignore it for the rest of my life and it wouldn't be so bad— I thought it would be better if you were just _gone_."

Thomas couldn't breathe. Jimmy's eyes were wet again, and his voice was starting to break, but a damn seemed to have burst in him and the words kept coming. It was as if he were sitting at confession, and telling Thomas all his sins.

"But then you and your bloody heroics!" Jimmy growled. "After you saved me at the fair I couldn't ignore you anymore, and we became friends and I—I _loved_ you, and it was so much worse than just wanting you—and now I feel so miserable, Thomas, I keep dreaming about you dying in that river, and I don't think I can live like this anymore—I feel so sick, every day I feel so _sick_—"

Suddenly Thomas's arms were around him, and Jimmy didn't know if Thomas had pulled him in or if he'd simply collapsed against the other man. He felt weak and drained and broken, as if he were grieving, as if being apart from Thomas were a kind of death.

"Then _don't_," Thomas breathed into his hair. "Don't live this way anymore, darling. Change it. If you're not happy then do something to change it."

Jimmy shuddered, his tears running like rivers down his face. He hated himself for weeping. "But I'm a coward, Thomas, remember?" he whispered.

"Nonsense," Thomas kissed his temple. "You're _brave_."

Jimmy shook his head. "I'm not. I'm frightened of so many things…"

"Bravery isn't about not being afraid; it's about _choices_, just like everything else." Thomas told him firmly. "We only get one life for ourselves, so to make it a happy one we have to seek out what makes us happy, and do what we must to get it. We have to _choose_ it, even if it's frightening or difficult."

Thomas's hands were stroking his hair and his back now, and it felt so lovely it made Jimmy tremble. Thomas's words were not nearly so soft as his hands and his lips: they were sharp and piercing and reverberating in Jimmy's head like canon fire. He wanted to run away again, but he didn't have the strength to leave Thomas's arms a second time.

"All my life it's been difficult for me," Thomas murmured. "Like everyone else I've tried to make the life I wanted for myself— but the world traps me in, doesn't it? It tells me I can't have love or anything else I want, just because of the way I am. I could just roll over and be a victim, couldn't I? It'd be easier, in a way—less frightening, certainly. I could just stop trying. But I'd never be happy like that, so I don't _choose_ that."

Jimmy laughed into Thomas's shoulder. "It's that simple, is it?"

Thomas kissed his hair. "It is to me."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"…Thomas?"

"Hm?"

"Could we…" Jimmy pulled back slightly, his eyes downcast. "Could I sleep here, tonight?"

Thomas nodded mutely. He didn't trust his voice.

They separated carefully, as if the other were made of glass. Then Jimmy left to wash and dress in his own room.

Thomas felt curiously blank as he cleaned his face and teeth, but beneath some layer in his mind his thoughts were racing. Jimmy wanted to sleep with him tonight, but did that mean what he thought it meant? He'd certainly been wrong before. It was possible, wasn't it, that Jimmy might be doing this as some sort of long goodbye? Perhaps he wanted a tender memory to tie up the ends of this ill-advised love affair, and in the morning he would leave Thomas and never be so close to him again. Maybe he'd even leave Downton altogether—

A fist closed around his insides at the thought, and a tremor started up in his hands.

After that rather magnificent speech he'd given about bravery and choice, he almost wanted to laugh at himself for the cold terror he was feeling now. Perhaps he'd used up all of his courage tonight, trying to lend some to Jimmy.

But Thomas hadn't been in service so long for nothing: even with his hands shaking he managed to undo his buttons and pull on his cotton trousers with little difficultly. But then he was at a loss as to what to do with himself. Should he lie down in his bed as he usually did? Should he sit in his desk chair instead?

Was Jimmy really coming back?

A soft fumbling at the door made Thomas jump.

It was Jimmy.

He slipped inside, closing the door very quietly behind him. He wore only his white pajamas and dressing gown, his dark blue eyes clear and steady as they rose to meet Thomas's. Thomas desperately wanted to go to him and pull him close, but he dared not. The silence between them felt much too fragile to push through. Jimmy had made his decision, that much was obvious; Thomas had only to wait to know what it was.

He inhaled shakily. There wasn't enough air in the room.

Jimmy broke the silence with a sigh. "No need to be so frightened, Mr. Barrow," he mumbled, sounding shame-faced.

And just like that he slipped off his dressing gown and hung it beside Thomas's in the wardrobe. Then he moved forward, reached around Thomas, and switched off the lamp. The darkness brought little relief to Thomas's thundering heart, but it did conceal his expression, and for that he was grateful.

Jimmy pulled back the sheets and climbed into Thomas's bed. When Thomas just stood there, frozen, Jimmy huffed and pulled on Thomas's nightshirt until he unbent enough to lie beside him.

Mouth dry, Thomas dared to tuck himself against Jimmy's side, tentatively resting his head between Jimmy's neck and shoulder. He was painfully aware that Jimmy might shove him off, but he didn't; instead, Jimmy sighed and wrapped his arms around him. Thomas let out the breath he'd been holding and relaxed into Jimmy's embrace. He smelled so bloody _good_, and felt so warm and sweet…it couldn't get any better than this, he thought, but then it _did_, because after a long moment Jimmy began to comb his fingers through Thomas's hair. Jimmy had never touched him this way before; his touches had always been friendly or sexual, never _intimate_…it was too lovely for words to describe.

"I don't understand anything, you know," Jimmy said into the dark. "I… don't think I ever have, really."

Thomas was silent, turning this over in his mind. He wasn't sure he understood what Jimmy meant.

"Do you mean about…uh, _men_, or—"

"_Everything_," Jimmy repeated intensely. "I've realized I've been an idiot about so many things…"

Thomas couldn't help it; he snorted a laugh into Jimmy's nightshirt, joy bursting like sunlight in his chest.

"Right, you would laugh at me, of course you would," Jimmy grumbled.

Thomas struggled to compose himself. "I'm sorry, Jimmy,"

"I would've lived out my life in peace just fine without you," Jimmy added darkly.

"And now you won't?" Thomas asked. Suddenly he wasn't sure if he was right to feel so happy—Jimmy might not be teasing after all; this really might be a long goodbye.

Jimmy must have felt him stiffen because he sighed again and tightened his grip on Thomas's hair, sending faint lines of arousal and pain down his back.

"No matter what, I don't think _peaceful _will ever suitably describe me life," Jimmy admitted.

_What the bloody hell does that mean? _

"Of course," Jimmy went on in a lighter tone. "I never really wanted a relaxing sort of life, you know, Mr. Barrow. Danger, excitement—that's more to me liking, I've just never known how to get it 'till now."

Thomas felt lightheaded.

"Tomorrow I'm going to ask Mr. Carson if I can take a trip to Rotherham," Jimmy continued. "And you're going with me."

Thomas breathed at that, unable to stop his arm from tightening convulsively around Jimmy. Rotherham was Jimmy's hometown. What could he possibly want to go there for? He had no family or friends to visit, he'd told Thomas as much long ago.

"Mr. Carson won't allow it, I'm sure," Thomas told him, bewildered. "Especially considering what happened tonight at dinner…"

Jimmy yawned. "He has to; we'll just have to think of something to tell him."

Thomas swallowed uneasily. Jimmy was stroking his hair again, and it felt so sweet, but… he was still afraid. Why Rotherham? What exactly was Jimmy thinking? Had he chosen Thomas or not? The closeness, Jimmy's hands touching him tenderly made him think that he had. But there was still that tiny sliver of doubt that would not let him rest… he'd been wrong about Jimmy so many times before, he had no faith left in his own judgment of him.

Several minutes passed in this way, with Thomas blindly staring at the wall and trying to slow his anxious heartbeat. Finally Jimmy shifted under him and whispered to Thomas to lie on his back. When he obliged, Jimmy curled up under his chin and kissed his throat and said:

"I _told_ you, there's no need to be so frightened. Be brave…" Thomas felt him smile. "Like me."

Jimmy felt lighter than air, like he could fly off the ground if he took a running leap. Somewhere deep inside his fears were still there, trembling in the dark, but they no longer held power over him—and they never would again, if he could help it. Like Thomas had said, you only had one life to live so you must seize what happiness you can; you must choose it and hold onto it with both hands, and damn the rest of the world if you must.

So that was what Jimmy was doing. Literally.

He had both hands wrapped around Thomas Barrow and he wasn't letting go. He'd tried living without him _three_ times: after the sleep kiss when he'd shunned him, and then after the fair when they'd been careful friends, and then after that night in the shed, when Jimmy had tried to put even more distance between them—but each time he'd tried had only hurt them both. It was like trying to fight the pull of gravity.

Never again, Jimmy swore.

He kissed Thomas's chest, sealing the promise into this skin. Thomas shivered.

"…If you've decided to be brave then, Jimmy," Thomas said shakily. "Then I'd like to know—just things I'm curious about knowing, but only if you'd like to tell me."

Jimmy grinned. Maybe he _wouldn't _tell Thomas about his plans for Rotherham if he asked. The poor man would really turn into Carson someday if Jimmy didn't surprise him from time to time.

"Alright," Jimmy agreed.

Thomas's silence seemed to be a taken aback one, as if he were shocked by this easy acceptance. He recovered quickly, though, and asked: "How _did _you know how to rescue me when I fell in that damn river? You grew up in town, not the countryside, so how…?"

Jimmy snorted. If it were anyone else asking he'd say he'd only been using his brain, but since it was Thomas…

"I _didn't_ know it would work really, I just remember reading about it in a Penny Dreadful once," he confessed.

Thomas seemed to find this to be the height of hilarity. He muffled his laughter into Jimmy's nightshirt, his whole body shaking with it. Jimmy squeezed him hard in response, his chest fairly aching with love for him; he'd never known Thomas to laugh so freely before. Jimmy could feel a ridiculously soppy expression overtaking his own face and he didn't even care. _This_ was really living, he thought. This wasn't wrong, this was the best thing he'd ever done. Jimmy had to blink away a sudden burning in his eyes.

When Thomas had control of himself again he asked, "When I was so ill before, why didn't you come to see me? You said we'd still be friends but then you didn't even…"

"I _did_ come to see you, you idiot."

Jimmy could feel Thomas frown. "No you didn't,"

"I _did_," Jimmy insisted. "Didn't you hear me come into your room at night? I even _touched _you, sometimes. I couldn't bloody well help it—I love your _hair_, you know, and you were so feverish I worried about you."

"Oh," Thomas said softly. "I thought those were only dreams."

Jimmy rolled his eyes. "I thought you _knew_, it were half the reason I could barely look at you when you came back to work."

"I see…" he was quiet for a moment, then he asked in a softer tone: "And what about your dreams, Jimmy? You said you were having nightmares about me dying…ah, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

Jimmy swallowed hard. "No, I can say it," he paused, gathering himself.

"I'd been having dreams about you dying in the river almost every night since we were rescued. In the dream I just watch you thrash around in the ice until your strength gives out, and you go under, but I can't move me body to save you. But ah, it's worse even than that because my parents are there."

"Your parents?"

Jimmy nodded, his skin prickling with remembered fear. "They were the only people I ever loved, besides you," Jimmy said. "I suppose since they're dead, and I wasn't letting myself have you, it were like I was letting you die. In the dreams my parents were always standing on the other side of the river, holding hands, waiting for you to join them… it was _horrible_, Thomas. After they died I thought that was it for me—I never could care much for other people so I thought it were just gonna be me _contra mundum_ for the rest of my life… but ah—I didn't account for you. I didn't—" Jimmy tightened his arms around Thomas, pressing his face into his neck. "I didn't expect you."

Thomas let out a breath. Then he rolled Jimmy over and pressed his mouth to Jimmy's, kissing him softly and sweetly at first and then deeply, until Jimmy's whole body felt lit up from the inside out. _God_, how had he ever thought he could live without this? He couldn't, he really, _really _couldn't.

Jimmy clenched his fist in Thomas's hair and raked his other hand down his back, his fingers finding Thomas's hip so he could grip it hard. He wanted to pull Thomas into him, make him _stay._

Thomas broke the kiss. "Rough, aren't you?" he whispered.

Jimmy forced himself to gentle his touch, heat flooding his face. "S-sorry, I'll stop, it's just I don't know what I'm bloody doing— before that night with you I'd never, ah, _never_…"

He fumbled to a halt. He couldn't believe he'd just admitted that. Wasn't it shameful, a man his age who'd been to war but had never touched anyone before? But he'd never wanted it with a woman no matter how hard he'd tried, and other men… well. It hadn't been much different with them either, really. He'd never known what it was to _want_ until Thomas. Ha, that was soppy—

"No, don't stop, I _like_ it," Thomas breathed, kissing him again. "I like the little hurt. That night in the shed you left wounds all over me, Jimmy…it was lovely."

Jimmy shuddered, feeling himself harden so quickly he felt dizzy. Oh, Christ. Oh, _fuck_. He didn't know why that should excite him so much but it did, the thought of Thomas wearing the imprint of Jimmy's mouth and hands under his clothes, the idea of him feeling the little sting as he went about his duties, remembering Jimmy's touch…

And Thomas _liked_ it.

Jimmy breathed Thomas's name and resumed his clawed grip in his hair, latching onto Thomas's throat with his mouth. He licked and sucked at his pulse, hungrily pulling the blood up to the surface to make a mark, and through the rushing in his ears he heard Thomas moan softly, his hips pushing down into Jimmy's as if he couldn't help himself. Jimmy remembered the way it had felt the last time Thomas was on top of him, the way his hard cock had burned against his stomach, and suddenly he wanted that so much he couldn't breathe. Frantically he pushed the blankets off and kicked the sheets to the floor, mouth only leaving Thomas's skin so he could tear at his clothes.

"Get—get these off," Jimmy gasped.

Thomas shook his head, the moonlight drawing his outline in the dark. "Slow down, darling," he said. "It's alright…"

Jimmy trembled with lust just hearing the silken sound of Thomas's voice, but what he was _saying_—Jimmy couldn't do that, he'd die.

"I don't want to go slow," Jimmy said. "I can't—I don't know that I'd make it if we go _slow_."

Thomas straddled Jimmy's waist and sat up, gently pinning his wrists to the bed. Jimmy squirmed beneath him, desperate to get closer.

"I didn't know you'd never done it before," Thomas said. "If I'd known—well, _now_, you should know what it's like to really experience it."

Jimmy had thought he'd damned well _experienced_ it before, but then, those were some unusual circumstances. Thomas hadn't even been well at the time… remembered guilt took the edge off Jimmy's lust, and he closed his eyes. "In the shed that night—I didn't, uh, take advantage or anything, did I? I didn't hurt you in a way you didn't like?"

"No, definitely not." Jimmy could hear him smirking.

Jimmy was quiet for a moment, trying to ignore the steady throbbing between his legs. "Alright, let's—let's go slow, then. I'll try to go slow."

Before Thomas could reply Jimmy added, "But if we're doin' it like that then I want a sodding _light_. I want to see you this time."

It was late, but surely a candle or two wouldn't shine much light under the door. Thomas seemed to have the same thought, because as soon as Jimmy thought it Thomas was leaning over and rummaging in his bedside table. A moment later he struck a match and two fat candles flared to life, filling the black room with just enough light to see Thomas's clearly. Jimmy had never seen him look like that before: his expression was unbearably tender, but at the same time his eyes were dark and heavy-lidded with want. Jimmy's entire body flushed with heat at the sight of him.

_Oh Christ, Thomas, I'll never manage slow…_

Thomas took off his shirt over his head and Jimmy's mouth went dry. Without taking his eyes off him Jimmy struggled with his own clothes, his fingers tripping up in the buttons. After a moment of watching him struggle Thomas brushed Jimmy's hands away and began to undo them instead, one at a time. Jimmy bit his lip, his hands itching to comb through Thomas's chest hair, feel his pounding heart.

Thomas wasn't unaffected, no matter how much he insisted they should go _slow_. Jimmy could see how flushed he was even in this lighting, could see too the outline of his hard cock rising up inside his pajama trousers. Jimmy's breath came quicker at the sight. He wanted to touch it, but he suspected that wasn't allowed just yet.

Finally Jimmy's nightshirt was spread open on both sides of him, and Thomas was sitting back to admire him.

"You're perfect," Thomas whispered.

"So—so are you," Jimmy said. "Please, Thomas…"

Jimmy's hands were clutching Thomas's thighs in a bruising grip. He wasn't sure when they'd gotten there.

"Alright," Thomas leaned down and kissed Jimmy, softly—_too _softly. Jimmy groaned and licked at Thomas's mouth, trying to entice him deeper, but he would not be moved. Instead he pulled back and away, leaving Jimmy cold.

"No wait, _wait_—"

"Shhh…"

Jimmy sat up, realizing what Thomas was doing. He was standing so he could take off the rest of his clothes. Jimmy had never seen him naked before, not properly, so he looked his fill—and Thomas stood still to let him. In the flickering candlelight Thomas's winter coloring was burnished gold and red, the lines of his body cut with dark shadows. Jimmy could see how aroused he was, and how his chest moved as he breathed, and how the only thing he still wore was the leather glove on his left hand. Jimmy felt desire so sharp it hurt. Reflexively his hands flew down to his prick, pressing against it through his clothes as it leaked and throbbed. _Fuck, fuck…_

"_Thomas,"_ he croaked. _For god's sake I can't go slow…_

Finally Thomas showed him mercy. He returned to the bed and pushed Jimmy back against the pillow, his hands trailing down Jimmy's chest to the waist of his pajama trousers. He pulled them off, carefully lifting the waistband over his aching cock and then sliding them down Jimmy's legs.

As soon as he was free of them Jimmy gripped Thomas by the hair and dragged his mouth back to his to kiss him hard. Thomas let him for a moment, but then he took control of the kiss and gentled it, slowing the pace to something hot and wet and deep. Jimmy could feel his mind buzzing, his thoughts flying further out of reach the longer they kissed.

When Thomas pulled back a second time Jimmy didn't protest. Instead he watched Thomas watching him, the way Thomas's eyes drifted over every part of Jimmy's naked body just as Jimmy had looked at his. Jimmy found he liked being looked at—he liked it a lot. If he'd given thought to it before he would've guessed he'd be self conscious, but he wasn't.

"I like you looking at me," Jimmy heard himself say, breathless.

Thomas looked up from where he'd obviously been studying Jimmy's arousal. "I'm pleased to hear it," he said. Then he smiled. "You're not becoming a narcissist now, are you Jimmy?"

Jimmy shook his head, slowly. All he knew was that he felt beautiful with Thomas looking at him—beautiful and brave.

Thomas looked a bit longer, and Jimmy looked back, until finally Thomas licked his lips and bent down over Jimmy once more. He started with Jimmy's neck, kissing him softly at first and then building intensity until he was kissing and sucking hard at the base of Jimmy's throat. _Leaving a mark on me, too, _Jimmy thought, and he gripped Thomas's shoulders tight. He had to hold on to something or he'd lose it completely.

When the mark was finished Thomas traced his thumb over it, making Jimmy flinch at the sensitivity. Then he moved down to Jimmy's chest and nipples, and the torture began again.

Thomas started by kissing and licking lightly at first, just the barest brush of his mouth, then gradually he built up a rhythm of increasing intensity until Jimmy was writhing on the bed, his cock leaking steadily against his stomach. Every time he tried to thrust against Thomas he'd arch out of reach, and every time Jimmy's hands reached for Thomas's prick they were caught and pinned away. Jimmy couldn't _stand_ it.

"Please Thomas, please, I can't—I _really_ can't, please, _please_—"

"You're so polite, all of the sudden—" Thomas said, but his voice was rough and shaking.

Jimmy could barely understand him. He wasn't even sure he knew what words were coming out of his own mouth. All he knew was the roaring hunger inside him, how his cock hurt it was so hard, and how Thomas felt like a living flame burning him all over his body. He'd come as soon as Thomas touched him—maybe Thomas wouldn't even _have_ to touch him, he'd come all on his own, just from his mouth and hands on his skin.

If this was _slow_, Jimmy couldn't decide if it were heaven or hell.

"Jimmy?"

Jimmy didn't remember when he'd shut his eyes but he opened them now. Thomas sounded serious.

"Jimmy, are you alright?"

Jimmy nodded. He realized dimly that his entire body was shaking, and that sweat had broken out across his skin even though the room was quite cold.

"I want to try, ah, something with my mouth and hands," Thomas told him. He lightly caressed Jimmy's cock and bullocks with his ungloved hand. Jimmy's hips surged up wildly at the touch, his hands flying up to his own mouth to smother his shout.

Thomas looked surprised at his reaction, but then he bit his lip a little sheepishly, his eyes darkening as they trailed down Jimmy's body. "Maybe shouldn't have gone _that_ slowly…" he muttered to himself. "Best wait a moment."

Jimmy only shook in response, trying to hold back the orgasm that had gotten so close to blowing his brains out.

They were silent for a long while, the only sound in the room their heavy breathing. Eventually Jimmy came back from the edge, his thoughts returning with an effort. When he managed to focus his eyes on Thomas's once more Thomas swallowed hard, and traced his hands over Jimmy's sides.

"Alright?"

"Yes," Jimmy managed.

Thomas licked his lips again. "I want to kiss you on your… _here_," he said, and this time he touched a single finger to Jimmy's heavy prick. Jimmy gasped but managed to keep still this time, only jolting a little.

"And I want to touch and kiss you here, and _here_," and Jimmy felt fingers on his bollocks and then even lower, and he whimpered.

"Would you like that, Jimmy?"

Jimmy wanted to laugh, but he couldn't catch his breath for it. _Would he like that? Of course he'd bloody well like it!_ Instead he nodded frantically. "Yes, yes, yes, _fucking hell_…"

Thomas smiled again. Christ but the icy bastard smiled a lot in bed, Jimmy would have to remember that—

Then his thoughts scattered. Thomas was gently pushing his thighs up and apart, and he was shifting lower in the bed, his perfect red mouth inches away from Jimmy's cock… _oh, god almighty_… he wouldn't survive this.

Thomas firmly gripped the base of Jimmy's cock and licked the tip, his eyes locked on Jimmy's. Then he took the whole thing into his mouth, and sucked. Jimmy smothered another cry with his fist, his hips surging up only to be pinned back down hard by Thomas's body. He would've come but Thomas was holding the orgasm back somehow and _oh_ it hurt but it felt so good—and just the thought of his prick in Thomas's mouth alone was—but to see it, to _feel_ it—

Jimmy bit his knuckles and writhed on the sheets as Thomas sucked him, a low, helpless whine caught in his throat. Then suddenly that perfect mouth was gone. Jimmy gasped at the loss only to lose it all over again when he felt a wet tongue lapping at his bollocks, then gently sucking, then dipping lower to taste his—his—Jimmy hissed and felt another orgasm choke itself on the grip Thomas had on his cock.

This was _torture_, this was too much, he'd die, he really would, and oh god was he sobbing?

Somehow he found his voice to beg. He had no idea what he was saying, only that it made Thomas ease his grip, suck a finger between his lips, and then his mouth was swallowing Jimmy's cock while the wet finger slid inside Jimmy's body. Jimmy cried out, the world shrinking down to a single, painful point of ecstasy and then exploding outward. Thomas held his hips down and swallowed hard as he came, his finger gently thrusting then easing itself out of Jimmy's body. Jimmy collapsed beneath him, unable to remember his own name.

When he returned to himself he felt as if a thousand years had passed. There was complete and utter bliss in his body; every part of him was empty and warm and floating, his stillness only broken by little aftershocks of pleasure.

_Thomas…?_

Jimmy found him still between his legs, but he was sitting up now. He hadn't come yet. Jimmy could see how dark his eyes were, how his swollen cock was leaking between them. The shaking that had been in Jimmy's body now seemed to be in his instead, making the whole bed tremble. And his mouth… oh god, his lips were bruised and red. He'd swallowed Jimmy's…

What did that taste like?

Jimmy pulled his body up with an effort. He wanted to give Thomas that—what he'd given to Jimmy. So he silently pushed Thomas onto his back and took his cock in his hands. It felt burning hot and so heavy it had to be painful. Tentatively Jimmy licked the fluid from the head. Thomas made a helpless sound that was very gratifying, so Jimmy did it again. And again. The taste was strange and very salty, but Jimmy liked it. So he took what he could fit in his mouth and sucked.

"Jimmy," Thomas gasped. "Jimmy, darling, you have to move or I—I—I'm going to—" he writhed beneath Jimmy, so Jimmy sucked him even harder, wondering if he should lick his finger and do what Thomas had done to him. But before he could decide Thomas flew upwards and pulled Jimmy's head away just in time for him to come in wet bursts all over his chest and stomach. Jimmy felt some of it hit his lips and jaw, so he licked it away.

Thomas collapsed, gasping, onto the bed. Jimmy crawled up his body to look him in the face. "Why'd you pull me off?" he asked. "I wanted to… do what you did. The way you did it."

Thomas blinked heavily, his face loose with bliss. "I wasn't sure you realized, so I tried to warn you…"

Jimmy huffed. "I'll do as I damn well please," he said, then he crawled back down to lap at Thomas's emissions to show he meant it.

Thomas shuddered and groaned while Jimmy cleaned him with his tongue. Jimmy loved every moment of it, his entire being replete with satisfaction.

When he was finished he curled up under Thomas's chin, suddenly more exhausted than he'd ever been in his life. He fell asleep instantly.

For the first time in a very long time, his dreams were sweet.

The next morning everyone seemed to think Jimmy had gone mad… again.

He strode into the servants' hall with a bright, "Good morning!" and then proceeded to eat two helpings of everything. When Mr. Carson gave him a suspicious look Jimmy only smiled serenely and went about his duties, his hair and clothes perfectly polished, his bearing upright. Even Thomas barely recognized him. He supposed Jimmy must have been in deeper pain than he'd realized, if this was him unburdened.

And, perhaps, it had just been that good between them the night before…

"What's gotten into him?" Mrs. Patmore asked, staring after Jimmy in astonishment. "Has he been replaced by a changeling in the night?"

He'd just told her he thought her new apron was _jolly_—and he'd said it without a sneer.

Thomas hid a grin behind his teacup. He'd have to have a word with Jimmy about being more discreet, no matter how enjoyable it was to watch him act the part of a besotted Romeo.

Mrs. Patmore glanced at him as if he'd spoken aloud, and her expression cleared. _"Oh,"_ she said.

Thomas put down his teacup. "What's that, Mrs. Patmore?"

"Oh, 'tis nothing Mr. Barrow…" but she gave him a sideways look as she left the room, her mouth curled up at one corner.

After luncheon Jimmy and Molesley were sent to rearrange furniture in the library, with Thomas supervising. During the entire affair Molesley kept up a soppy, long-winded commentary about Miss Baxter and her wonderful everything, but for once Thomas didn't tell him to shut his gob. He knew he needed Molesley's chatter to keep him cool—because Jimmy in his shirtsleeves, Jimmy bending over chairs with his arms flexing, Jimmy's shy smiles and warm glances were unbearably erotic—especially given that Thomas couldn't stop thinking about the night before.

Jimmy had left marks again, and he could feel them ache and spark with sensitivity beneath his livery. He'd left a few on Jimmy too, if he weren't mistaken.

By the end of the afternoon he was giddy with lust and mental exhaustion, yet happier than he could ever remember being in the whole of his life. He spent the remainder of the evening struggling not to show his hand, as it were—it would be much too obvious if he, too, were suddenly smiling and humming show tunes while he worked. Jimmy was doing enough of that on his own, the idiot—Thomas had heard him humming through the halls on his way to polish _silver_, of all things. Carson had looked positively alarmed by this behavior.

They didn't catch a moment alone together until after dinner, when they met outside for a smoke. The wall sheltered them from most of Downton's windows, but that didn't mean it was safe to press Jimmy up against it and kiss the stupid out of him—Thomas had to remind himself of this as soon as Jimmy arrived, his color high and his eyes bright.

"I think you're scaring the rest of the staff," Thomas said. "They're not accustomed to the sight of you in such a good mood, it's giving Carson quite a turn."

Jimmy rolled his eyes, grinning, and leaned his shoulder against Thomas's. "He wanted me to change me attitude, didn't he? I'm just following orders."

"Cheeky,"

They smoked in blissful silence for a couple of minutes, keeping their shoulders pressed tight together. Thomas thought about giving Jimmy the _'be discreet'_ speech but found he couldn't, not now. This day belonged to them alone; there would be time enough for speeches later.

"It's almost warm today," Jimmy said, looking up at the sky shot through with amber and violet. The sun was setting, but the days were growing longer, the chill of winter lessening its grip bit by bit.

Frankly Thomas couldn't feel the cold at all; his body was too alight with joy and restrained desire to notice any nip in the air. He only hoped his face wasn't as red as it felt.

"Bloody _fucking_ hell," Jimmy groaned with sudden violence. "I wish we didn't have _work!"_

Thomas stared at him. Jimmy was scowling, suddenly, his arms crossed over his chest like a child in a fit of temper. Thomas recognized the furious expression and snorted. "Didn't last long, did it?"

Jimmy flicked the ashes off his cigarette with unnecessary force. "_What_ didn't?"

"Your good spirits."

Jimmy took a deep pull of smoke, his face dark, then halfway through his inhale he burst out laughing—which naturally made him choke and cough. Thomas patted his back and smiled a little, though he wasn't sure he knew what was so funny. Jimmy's moods changed so quickly he couldn't keep up.

When Jimmy finally managed to breathe he gasped, "But that's just it, Thomas, I _am_ in good spirits!"

"Of course _that's_ not confusing at all—"

Jimmy shoved him. "Oh, shut yer mouth!"

Thomas gracefully blew smoke into Jimmy's face. Jimmy pretended to be offended, waving the cloud away, but then he sighed and tipped his forehead against Thomas's shoulder, his body slumping against his.

"But that's just the trouble," he said wistfully. "I wish we didn't have to work today because I feel so _light_, Thomas, like a heavy weight has been lifted off me back— or like I'm finally standing up on my own two feet after being caged up for _years_. I want to dance, or scream, or run like mad, just you and me together…"

_Oh, Jimmy, I love you so._ Thomas swallowed the words—best save that for later, when they could pour everything out at once.

"It—it's like that for me, too," he said instead.

Between their bodies Jimmy wound their fingers together, the dark fall of Thomas's coat concealing the gesture. Thomas felt so happy he barely recognized himself.

In silence they finished their cigarettes, and then in no time at all it was time to go back inside.

"Well, I had better find Carson before bed," Jimmy said when they parted. "Got to ask him about Rotherham."

Thomas had almost forgotten about that. "What's this about Rotherham?" he asked curiously. "You never said."

Jimmy smiled sweetly, kissed his own fingertips, then pressed them to Thomas's mouth. "If you can't guess already then it'll be a surprise, won't it?"

About an hour later Thomas found Jimmy exiting Carson's office, beaming. Thomas fell into step beside him, his heart fluttering with nerves and anticipation.

"We're going to Rotherham on March first," Jimmy told him triumphantly.

Thomas couldn't hide his shock. "How'd you get Carson to give permission? He were ready to murder you yesterday and no mistake."

Jimmy cocked his chin up. "I just told him the truth, didn't I?"

"And what truth is that, exactly?"

But before Jimmy could reply Anna and Mr. Bates turned the corner, laughing, so they saved the rest of their discussion for later.

Later came _much_ later, after everyone had gone to bed for the night.

"So, what'd you tell Carson, then?" Thomas asked breathlessly.

_Oh_, Jimmy looked so good like that, half-dressed and heavy-lidded on the fresh sheets.

Jimmy pulled at Thomas's hips, trying to bring him down on the bed with him. His brow creased with frustration when Thomas would not be moved.

"Thomas, _please_—"

"I just want to know what you said— and why we're even _going_—"

Jimmy groaned and used Thomas's clothing to drag himself up on his knees, the arch of his body as he moved too beautiful to be borne. When he reached Thomas's throat he latched on with his mouth, sucking at the skin with hungry, bruising pulls. Thomas's throat would be raw before long, the way Jimmy carried on so.

Thomas didn't mind one bit. He tipped his head back, feeling the last of his resistance crumble. Not there had been much to begin with.

"Later," he insisted. "You'll tell me everything _later._"

Jimmy pulled away just long enough to nod, but Thomas could see he was lying by the way he widened his eyes at him. Thomas found it unbearably attractive. Then Jimmy's mouth returned to his neck, only this time his hands were sliding down Thomas's sides, then around to take his arse in a firm grip.

_Oh, to hell with it_, he thought dizzily. Seizing Jimmy's wrists, he dragged his hands away from his body and pushed him down on his back. Jimmy laughed in delight.

Over the coming weeks Thomas tried to get Jimmy to tell him why they were going to Rotherham—and what exactly Jimmy had told Carson to get him to agree. But Jimmy would not be moved on the subject, no matter how Thomas coaxed him.

By the second week Thomas almost didn't care anymore. Instead it had become a game between them, something to fight about between kisses, or laugh about in code in the servant's hall.

The servant's hall was a jolly place these days. Jimmy was constantly playing piano and had even brought himself to sing a few songs. He had the most beautiful voice Thomas had ever heard. It was difficult not to snog him senseless in those moments, but somehow he always managed to wait until night fell, and they were gloriously alone once again.

On March 1st the day dawned bright and clear, still cold, but with a promise of spring in the sun and wind. Jimmy told everyone he was going to Rotherham for personal family reasons, and Thomas told them he was going to London to buy a few things. No one seemed particularly interested in either story. Only Mr. Bates gave them a suspicious look as they left after breakfast. His wife made up for it with a warm smile and a wish they'd both have a pleasant journey.

They boarded the train in Ripon, which was only fifty miles to Rotherham. Jimmy chattered happily the entire way there, telling Thomas all about his life before Downton, and the war.

Thomas was amused to learn that Jimmy's father had been a barber and hairdresser, "the best in all Yorkshire," according to Jimmy.

"So _that's_ how you've always got such pretty hair," Thomas said with a smirk.

Jimmy's hair was a bit wild when left to its own devices, a fact which annoyed Jimmy greatly. Every morning Jimmy woke with a tumble of waves and little curls: to tame them he used a bevy of various hair creams from France, and sometimes a curling iron. Thomas's own hair was naturally neat; he had only to use a comb and a bit of pomade, and he was finished. Jimmy liked to complain about the injustice of it all, even as he constantly stroked Thomas's dark hair when they were alone.

Thomas also learned it was Jimmy's mother, not his father, who had taught Jimmy to play the pianoforte. "She were from a higher class than me dad, you see?" Jimmy confided. "She was the daughter of a rich lawyer in London, but she ran away to be with me dad… she were almost like one of the upstairs, really. She knew how to speak French and play music and that. She was _clever,_ but she never had her nose in the air like that lot." And he rolled his eyes.

When the train pulled into the station and they stepped out onto the platform, Jimmy said: "Want to know what I told Carson to let us do this?"

Thomas managed not to sigh, but it was a close thing. Instead he made a show of nonchalance, lighting a cigarette before he said a word. "'Suppose I might,"

Jimmy grinned. "I told him I'd been in emotional distress, and that there was a personal matter troubling me greatly. I said that it was a matter that could only be settled if you and I were permitted to go to Rotherham for the day."

Thomas gaped at him. He couldn't believe that had worked.

Jimmy looked very pleased with himself. "See? I only told him the truth."

"But _I_ still don't know what we're really doing here," Thomas grumbled. "And hasn't your 'emotional distress' been _settled_, quite thoroughly, sometimes more than once a night since then?"

Jimmy coughed, his cheeks turning pink. "_Yes_, but—oh, come on, follow me."

Jimmy led Thomas through the streets of Rotherham, which was quite a bit bigger than Ripon or the village. Thomas even heard several people speaking French and Dutch as they passed—refugees left over from the war, no doubt. It was quite a lovely city, Thomas thought. He could see Jimmy living here, growing up here.

Finally they came to a stop in front of a barbershop on the corner of a small side street. It had a handsome green and gold sign over the door declaring it to be "Kent's Barbershop and Hairdressing."

"Is this where you lived then? Over the shop?" Thomas asked. He tried not to let his overwhelming curiosity show in his voice, but he wasn't sure he succeeded.

Jimmy nodded. Immediately Thomas pictured a golden-haired, miniature version of Jimmy coming home to this place after school, likely harassing his father in the shop and getting underfoot of the patrons.

"Who owns it now?"

"Just some young bloke who knew my father, name of Robert Worth. He lives in that nice house we passed on the hill earlier, the one with the cat in the window."

Thomas was surprised. "He didn't move into the rooms upstairs?"

Jimmy shook his head, smiling at him sideways. "Would you, if you already had a place like that? No, he doesn't live upstairs, he just rents it out to anyone willing to pay for it. But, that's not why we're here."

And with that Jimmy led him inside the warmth of the shop, a bounce in his step. Thomas followed.

A tall, skinny man with brown hair and spectacles was sweeping the floor of hair trimmings when they came in. He reminded Thomas strongly of Alfred.

"Jimmy Kent? Is that you?"

Jimmy smiled politely and shook the bespectacled man's hand. Pleasantries were exchanged; the man of course was Robert Worth, but he didn't sound particularly warm towards Jimmy at all—knowing Jimmy, he'd probably been rude to Mr. Worth once or twice before, and never apologized.

Jimmy introduced Thomas as his "very dear friend," which made Mr. Worth look at him twice.

_Not one for friends at all, were you Jimmy,_ Thomas thought fondly.

"Anyway, we're just here to check on my things, see about selling a thing or two to Mr. Barrow, here," Jimmy said smoothly. "I need the key if you would, Mr. Worth."

"Oh, yes, got it right here," Mr. Worth pulled a large brass key ring off his belt and handed it to Jimmy.

Jimmy led Thomas to a room in the back of the shop, which obviously served as a little office. Beyond the desk and chair there was another, larger room, which Jimmy unlocked to reveal a plethora of furniture, boxes, dishes, and other assorted items stacked tightly together.

"Since Mr. Worth was so fond of me dad and mum, I managed to convince him to let me use this room to store me parent's things," Jimmy explained. "For a small fee, of course. See the furniture? Nice, isn't it? When me mum ran off with me dad she took some things with her to sell, you know, since she knew she'd be disowned for it in any case. Her and me dad used some of the money to buy good china, nice furniture, things like that. I thought that meant that _we_ were wealthy, when I was a boy…" Jimmy chuckled, shaking his head at the memory.

Thomas found a large, ornate music box sitting on small oak table. There were vines and flowers carved into it, and it gleamed even in the dim light. Sometimes people had brought music boxes into his father's workshop to be repaired, since they were made of clockwork, but Thomas had never seen one so beautiful. It must have cost a fortune.

"That was me mother's," Jimmy said. "She loved it—she'd play it for me when I couldn't sleep. I thought about taking it with me to Lady Anstruther's, but I were afraid I'd break it, so I left it here."

"May I?"

Jimmy nodded.

Thomas opened the box, and the familiar notes of "Silent Night" began to play.

They listened until the song ended, then Thomas shut the lid carefully. "This is all wonderful Jimmy," Thomas said. "But why exactly did you want to show me all this?"

Jimmy looked away, and Thomas sensed he was embarrassed. "I wanted to show you that, even though I don't have a lot of money saved, I do have something to contribute." Jimmy said. "If you and I ever wanted to leave Downton someday… I'd be able to help is what I mean. We wouldn't have to buy furniture or china or anything, not with all this."

Thomas stared at him, his heart swelling up in his chest. Jimmy had been thinking of them in the future, of a life together on their own?

"That's—that's good of you, Jimmy," Thomas said, fighting to keep his voice steady. "I love it—I'd love to, to go somewhere with you and take all this with us. It'd be lovely."

A beautiful smile spread across Jimmy's face, and he blushed.

They left the barbershop to eat lunch in a café downtown, and when they were finished Thomas asked Jimmy if a tour of the city were in order, or if they'd go back to Downton now. All in all it had been a wonderful day. The best.

"Oh, but there's one more thing I've come here to do," Jimmy said. "It's—it's stupid, really, but it's important."

Jimmy led Thomas to a flower shop. He bought a lovely bouquet of flowers tied up with white ribbon, and when he saw them Thomas suspected he knew where they were going next. He was right: after the flower shop Jimmy took him to an old church on the outskirts of town, one that stood near a little wood with the usual scattering of graves in the yard. Jimmy walked the path with purpose to a modest double headstone near a crumbling wall, and stopped. "James and Maria Kent" were the names written there. Jimmy stared at them for a moment in silence, then he gently placed the bouquet on the stone.

Thomas stood back a respectful distance, thinking Jimmy would prefer privacy. But almost immediately Jimmy huffed in annoyance and waved Thomas forward. When Thomas was standing side-by-side with him Jimmy took his gloved hand in his, gripping it firmly.

"This is Thomas Barrow," Jimmy said to the stone.

Thomas was too shocked to move. He glanced at Jimmy sideways and found a deadly serious expression on his face, his cheeks red and his jaw tight. He'd told Thomas once he reckoned dead people were just _gone,_ and that they weren't watching over anyone or any of that rot. So why was he doing this now?

"I know you probably wouldn't understand," Jimmy went on. "Well, you might, Mum—but I love him. I love Thomas. I didn't think I'd ever love anyone besides the two of you, but I did. Just—just thought you should meet him."

Thomas closed his eyes for a moment, overwhelmed.

"I wasn't happy with myself for a long time," Jimmy continued, and now Thomas could hear the depth of emotion in his voice, the way it was starting to crack. "But he… he changed me mind. He saved me life. He's quite clever, really—" Jimmy laughed a little, and squeezed Thomas's hand. "He knows what he's about, and he's helped me to see what I'm about, and he makes me happy. So happy. He's… he's the dearest thing in the world to me."

Thomas felt he would weep. His throat ached and his eyes stung, but he held it back by force of will. He'd never expected such a thing from anyone before—never expected it from _Jimmy_. Suddenly he felt lucky, blessed even, for the first time in his life. He'd always felt the universe was against him, ever since he was a little child, but now… perhaps he'd been wrong, perhaps it had all been worth it, if it had been leading up to this.

Before Jimmy could say another word Thomas embraced him, right there in the churchyard. He didn't even care if anyone saw; nothing was more important than holding Jimmy now, and telling him how much he loved him, how much Thomas would always love him.

Embraces were what churchyards were for, in any case.

He heard Jimmy sniffle a bit. "Alright, alright, that's—that's enough, then," he mumbled awkwardly. "I just thought I should tell them, in case they _can_ hear me somehow. And I thought—I thought I should say it to you in front of them, to show you I really mean it. I'm not going to hurt you again."

Thomas pulled back so he could look at Jimmy. God, he was beautiful like that, his face flushed and his mouth vulnerable and soft. Jimmy could be soppy as anything until he realized what he was doing, and grew embarrassed. He was like that now, dropping his eyes and shuffling his feet.

Thomas loved him so much it hurt.

"I know you really mean it, Jimmy," Thomas said. "I've known it since you told _me_ to brave like _you._"

Jimmy laughed, turning away from the churchyard and starting back up the path. "You did not, you smug bastard!"

Thomas smiled so wide his cheeks ached. "Did too," he insisted, following Jimmy's lead.


End file.
